


The Problem with Falling

by essomenic



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bed-Wetting, Bisexual Male Character, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, If you only read one work by me, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mild Smut, Multi, POV Alternating, Passive-aggression, Pining, Polyamory, Pre-OT3, Pre-Poly, Psychological Trauma, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Rewrite, Sad Park Jimin, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Smoking, So much angst, Some Humor, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essomenic/pseuds/essomenic
Summary: Jimin has problems. But so do Yoongi and Hoseok.In which things are a bit too complicated for the trio that isn't a trio at all.REWRITTEN!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO + WELCOME !  
> I'm back again with another story I'll probably suck at updating but who doesn't need sad Park Jimin pining over his band-mates in their life  
> (((probably a lot of angst ahead)))

 

Jimin has a crush.

 

He’s actually had a crush for a really, _really_ long time now, but that’s all it’s ever been and all it ever will be: a stupid, useless, _stupid_ crush. It’s so stupid Jimin could die. He hates crushes, and he hates everything gooey and mushy and gross like romance. He hates his _“crush”_ just as much for not noticing him. It’s not like he wants to be like this. He never _asked_ to form these weird feelings. Yet here they are, and they’re making Jimin want to jump out the window.

 

Screw stupid crushes and romance. Jimin doesn’t need a crush right now. Or ever.

 

Hoseok must have noticed the change in Jimin’s demeanor because he’s no longer shouting at the TV screen with the others. Worry pulls his brows south and a frown sits on the edge of his mouth. It’s the place his smile usually takes up residence. Jimin pretends not to see him staring at him in his peripheral.

 

“You alright?” Hoseok asks. Jeongguk’s yelling from the other couch almost hides the slight concern in his voice, but Jimin knows better. His expression gives everything away, anyway, and Jimin can see clear as day that Hoseok is worried about him. The other boy leans over slightly, shuffling until they’re sitting close enough to whisper without fear of anyone else overhearing, their thighs touching. 

 

Jimin shrugs and does his best to glare at the TV spitefully. “ _Depends_ ,” he replies sourly.

 

Hoseok hums. “You tired from the performance, too? I feel like I’ve aged, like, twenty years.” He isn’t slighted by Jimin’s permeating hostility. Figures.

 

“Yeah, tired,” Jimin echoes, his voice barely there. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

 

Hoseok cocks his head to the side, bringing his hand to Jimin’s thigh to pat there with a reassuring smile. It’s the smallest gesture but so _Hoseok_ that Jimin shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t like worrying his hyungs. Especially not Hoseok.

 

“If you feel like talking later, you know where to find me,” Hoseok winks and ruffles Jimin’s hair.

 

“I know, hyung, we share a room.”

 

Hoseok chuckles at this. The others haven’t spared either of them a glance, still engrossed with themselves. Jeongguk and Taehyung are battling it out on Mario Kart, arguing and talking over each other. Namjoon is off somewhere with Jin, probably, and Yoongi is sleeping in the corner. Jimin lets his eyes glide across the room in his direction. He’s out cold, slumped in a chair with several coats thrown on top of him. He’s probably snoring. Jimin looks away again.

 

Fuck crushes.

 

 

♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

It’s not until several days later that Jimin decides to take Hoseok up on his offer.

 

Everything is quiet. Jimin’s hair is still wet from his shower and little water droplets drip from the ends onto his t-shirt, seeping through the fabric there like blood. Hoseok is lying face down on his bed, stretched out like a beached whale and doing something on his phone. He doesn’t look up when Jimin pads across the carpet. He doesn’t take any note of Jimin when he plops down onto the bed next to him, either. His own bed is two feet away, but that doesn’t matter much to Jimin. Hoseok’s bed is always nicer anyway.

 

“Hyung,” he mumbles quietly with a shake of Hoseok’s bare calf. He’s only wearing a pair of Yoongi’s boxers. They’re the pair Jimin saw in the wash yesterday.

 

“Yes, Jiminnie?” He doesn’t look up or turn his face. Jimin can’t see his screen, but he’s probably scrolling through Twitter like he always is.

 

“I need to... ask you something,” Jimin breathes out nervously, playing with his hands and the rings on his fingers. His voice is quiet and he almost thinks Hoseok hasn’t heard him, but Hoseok promptly rolls over so he's face up, setting his phone aside to look up at Jimin inquisitively.

 

“What’s up?”

 

There are quite a few things Jimin could say. He could say he’s weird. He could say he’s gross. He could say a whole spiel of things without Hoseok judging him. But for the other boy to understand, Jimin would have to start from the beginning. He’d have to give some explanation for his behavior and to do so would jeopardize the fragile line Jimin’s been treading between normalcy and acceptance.

 

Jimin lets a sigh worm itself out of his body. Hoseok’s hands find where Jimin’s are fiddling in his lap and he holds them in his own, bigger ones, rubbing circles across the knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. Hoseok looks tired, Jimin observes. The damp hair on his head is a mess from his earlier shower and his eyelids droop sleepily with every blink. His dark eyes prod Jimin to speak before Jimin knows he’s opened his mouth.

 

“Do you think Yoongi-hyung likes me?”

 

The question is stupid. Hoseok’s eyebrows reach for his hairline, disappearing under the mop of bedhead resting there.

 

“Of course he likes you,” Hoseok responds immediately, though the twinge of concern doesn’t go unnoticed by Jimin. “We all love you.”

 

Jimin makes a noise of complaint. He _knows_ that.

 

“I think he’s mad at me,” Jimin whines. His bottom lip wobbles threateningly.

 

Hoseok sits up, scooting back on the bed. He leans back against the headboard, bringing Jimin with him until they’re both sitting on top of the covers, crisscross, facing one another with their knees pressed against each other. He shakes his head quickly, firmly. “You’re an angel, Jimin. No one’s mad at you.”

 

“...You aren’t?”

 

This question is arguably stupider than the last. It causes Hoseok’s face to crease with a frown, deep lines settling into his face as worry and confusion take up residence within him. Jimin doesn’t like it. He wants Hoseok to be smiling at him. He wants Hoseok to be _happy_ , not frowning because Jimin is gross and uncertain.

 

“Jimin,” Hoseok begins softly, “why would you think I’m mad at you?”

 

There’s hurt in his eyes and in the hand that squeezes Jimin.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimin wets his lips nervously, answering honestly. The alarm clock on the bedside table ticks loudly, the only thing breaking the silence around them. Hoseok searches the younger’s face as if for an explanation. Jimin doesn’t have one.

 

Or at least not one Hoseok can ever know.

 

“Is there something bothering you?” Hoseok urges. “Something I don’t know about?”

 

Jimin nods, small.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

A shake of the head. Jimin’s hair flops against his forehead and it sprays a few beads of water at Hoseok. The latter doesn’t seem to mind, if he notices it at all. He brings Jimin’s hands up to his mouth and kisses the underside of Jimin’s wrist.

 

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Hoseok says.

 

Hoseok is too good.

 

 

♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

It’s two days later, sometime after they’ve arrived at their new hotel, that everything goes to shit.

 

Or, to be more specific, _Jimin’s_ everything goes to shit. The others are like they always are and anything Jimin could be going through is generally left unnoticed by the motley crew. As per usual, it’s just Jimin that’s stressing and working himself into a tizzy all by himself. The worst part is that Jimin can’t even be mad at anyone _except_ himself. He can’t blame anyone else because it’s _his_ fault. It’s _stupid_.

 

It’d been agreed that sleeping arrangements would be changed somewhat once they arrived at the hotel. Namjoon thought it’d be a good idea for some of them to swap roomies and make some much-needed adjustments. When you see the same six people every day, even just switching up which one you sleep with can make all the difference. Jimin secretly suspects that’s just Namjoon’s way of saying he’s tired of hearing Taehyung and Jeongguk screwing around, but whatever. If everything goes well, he ends up with Jin or Taehyung or someone that’s bearable.

 

But Jeongguk just won’t let Jimin fucking _breathe_.

 

“Explain to me,” Namjoon pauses to take a breath, in which he scrubs a hand over his face. “Explain to me how rooming with Yoongi and Hoseok could be _so_ ‘ _unbearable_ ’.” He even goes so far as to employ sarcastic air quotations.

 

Jeongguk, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest, scoffs. “Unbearable is an understatement.”

 

“Did that sound like an explanation to _you_ , Jeongguk?”

 

Jimin feels himself shiver and Taehyung has a similar reaction next to him. Taehyung has been quietly watching the argument unfold from the bed for some time, Jimin joining him once he heard the shouting from the hall. There’s some kind of dispute about who’s bedding whom—or... something like that. Jimin doesn’t really care. He just wants to sleep.

 

He huffs a little, tightening his arm around Taehyung, snuggling him to his chest. This argument could’ve been avoided. He could be sleeping right now. _Stupid Jeongguk_.

 

“Just _please_ let me room with someone else!” Jeongguk pleads now, dropping his indifferent act. He looks to Namjoon with wide, desperate eyes.

 

“You’re a fucking brat,” Namjoon spits. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, but Jimin can tell he’s caving. They all have a soft spot for the youngest, so Jimin feels a surge of sympathy. Sometimes he’s a handful and a half. Sometimes a dude only has one hand.

 

“Hyung, please,” Jeongguk is chanting like some prayer. Jimin wouldn’t be surprised if he even got down on his knees, too.

 

Namjoon barks a weird, tired laugh. Looking at Jeongguk, he throws his hands in the air in defeat. “Who would his _highness_ like to room with, then?”

 

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says immediately. Namjoon promptly rolls his eyes.

 

“You had him last time. I’m tired of hearing you two.”

 

Something resembling a blush crosses over Jeongguk’s face. His eyes jut to Taehyung on the bed and Taehyung stiffens in Jimin’s arms. Jimin watches in amused silence as Jeongguk blubbers and stumbles over his words as he tries to come up with a plausible excuse. Nothing comes out. Namjoon gives Taehyung a pointed look.

 

“Let me room with anyone but Yoongi-hyung,” Jeongguk demands indignantly. He taps his foot against the carpet impatiently. Namjoon looks like he wants to rip the leg from Jeongguk’s body.

 

“Do whatever you want,” Namjoon grumbles. “You don’t listen to me anyway.”

 

“Then can I room with Taehyung?”

 

“Okay, fine. But I swear to _god_ , Jeon Jeongguk, if you even—”

 

Jeongguk cuts Namjoon off rudely with a wave of his hand. “We’ll be quiet.” He throws a weird smile over at Taehyung, who returns it immediately. Jimin doesn’t even want to know.

 

Namjoon’s just stepping out of the room when he spins on his heels and points at Jimin. “Yoongi and Hoseok,” is all he says before slipping out and shutting the door behind him. Jimin stares at the door long after it has already closed, his brain only catching up when Taehyung’s wiggling out of his arms and into Jeongguk’s instead. He continues staring at the empty place Namjoon was standing, not fully grasping the new information. Namjoon wants him to room with Hoseok again?

 

That’s fine and dandy, but _why the hell is Yoongi being thrown into the mix as well?_

 

Jimin feels his head spin. He stumbles out into the hall on embarrassingly wobbly legs. No one’s around to see him trip and catch himself on the wall and he’s glad for that, if nothing else. He relishes in the momentary silence. He just wants to take a bath or something and relax. But having been assigned to room with Yoongi and Hoseok will mean none of that. He’ll be lucky if he sleeps at all tonight.

 

Jimin treks to the door across the hall. He stops right in front of it, sullen. There’s a ball of nerves growing in the pit of his stomach, sending his brain to unpleasant places. He doesn’t want to open it. He doesn’t want to step inside and have to explain the way his chest tightens or his hands sweat. Though he doesn’t want to sleep outside in the hall, either, so he pinches his nose and knocks.

 

Nothing. Jimin waits around thirty seconds in complete silence. He strains his ears for maybe a shouted ‘ _coming’_ or ‘ _go away_ ’ from inside the room. It’s likely Yoongi would find it inconvenient to answer the door, but he wouldn’t completely ignore it, either. Jimin isn’t even permitted the privilege. Instead, he’s stuck just staring down at the toes of his shoes dumbly. Should he knock again?

 

The decision is made for him as something barrels into his side. A little gasp escapes his mouth, his body lurching precariously to the left. Strong hands reach out to catch him before his shoulder can collide with the wall. And just as soon as the arms have steadied Jimin, they quickly retract again. Jimin blinks up into Yoongi's frown. 

 

“That excited to see me, huh?” Yoongi snorts sarcastically. He smirks, but it’s condescending in a way Jimin can’t quite place.  

 

“You surprised me,” Jimin mumbles. He steps away from Yoongi and out of the way as the elder pulls a key card from the pocket of his hoodie. He pauses. He peeks over his shoulder at Jimin.

 

“What’re you doing here anyway? You never come to visit me.” It’s meant to be joking, and if Jimin didn’t know better, he might’ve bought it. The underlying truth there leaves an aching hollowness in Jimin’s chest.

 

Jimin can’t help but gulp. “I’m not here to visit. I’m rooming with you now.” He tries, desperately, to keep his voice steady. He can’t have his voice squeaking or breaking randomly in the middle of sentences. That would damage his pride even further than he cares to think about.

 

“What?” Yoongi’s stare is positively glacial.

 

Jimin laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Crazy, right? Not my idea to bother you and Hoseok-hyung. I was just fine rooming with Namjoon-hyung for another couple of months. I don’t want to get in your hair.” Yoongi continues to ogle him, as if he doesn’t understand what Jimin is saying. “I...I’m sorry?” Jimin ventures lamely.

 

Yoongi squints. _“What?”_

 

Jimin attempts to explain again, but Yoongi holds up a hand. “We’re switching rooms?” he asks. “Why’d no one inform me of this?”

 

“You... were probably sleeping. We discussed it on the plane...”

 

If Yoongi has an epiphany standing in the middle of the hallway, he doesn’t show it. His face settles back into a resigned acceptance, as if he half expected that answer. It's the only remaining evidence that Jimin got under his skin.

 

“Hoseok’s not gonna like this,” Yoongi mutters to himself, finally swiping his key card to unlock the door and kicking it open with his foot. “Well, might as well make yourself comfortable before he goes off on me,” Yoongi generously offers. With a sugar-sweet smile, he ushers Jimin inside before him, holding the door open with an arm.

 

“’M sorry,” Jimin apologizes again, though he doubts Yoongi even hears it. He ducks his head a little as he flies past Yoongi. 

 

Yoongi grumbles something about Jimin's "oddness" and Jimin, for his part, ignores it to the best of his ability. He wants to ask where Yoongi was just now. He disappeared shortly after they arrived at the hotel, seemingly dissolving into thin air immediately after dinner. Now that he thinks about it, Hoseok had evaporated with him. He wants to ask where the two of them went. He wants to ask what they were doing. But Yoongi looks like he might go Tasmanian Devil on anyone that steps within a four-foot radius of him, so Jimin wisely keeps his mouth shut. He sits on the end of the furthest bed.

 

The room is the same as the one across the hall. The two queen-sized beds are covered in the same tope colored comforter. The two paintings above the beds are equally dull and unimaginative. Even the TV has the same remote lying next to it on the same brown table. The mirror on the wall displays a slightly rumpled Jimin with gross hair and the beginnings of a pimple on his chin. He stares at his reflection with a grimace.

 

“Once Hoseok decides to join us, we’ll discuss things,” Yoongi’s voice comes, breaking the silence. Jimin glances over at the older boy. He’s produced a water bottle from somewhere and began chugging it. He looks to have already showered, his face bare and a big sweatshirt hanging off his lean frame. His gaze meets Jimin’s.

 

“Discuss?” Jimin pipes up.

 

“Yes,” is all Yoongi bothers returning. He sits on the other bed with a sigh before immediately lying back and closing his eyes.

 

“Are you going to sleep now, hyung?” Jimin asks. It’s obvious what the other boy is doing, but Jimin still asks anyway.

 

Yoongi hums. He doesn’t open his eyes. His lips part slightly and Jimin knows he’s going to pass out soon.

 

“Where did Hoseok-hyung go?”

 

Yoongi sighs as Jimin folds his legs under himself. “Bathroom.”

 

Jimin’s eyes dart to the closed bathroom door. He hadn’t noticed the light peeping through the crack at the bottom.

 

“Hyung, do you—” he starts, but Yoongi’s already asleep. The words are left heavily on his tongue. Jimin sighs in frustration. Maybe next time.

 

 

♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Hoseok leaves the bathroom around ten minutes later looking like a Greek god, a towel wrapped around his lean body like a toga. He poses in the doorway for Jimin to see, one hand on the doorframe and the other on his hip. His ridiculously earnest expression is ruined as he grins widely. Jimin is giggling.

 

“Don’t laugh at the gods or you’ll have the wrath of them all,” Hoseok chides with a flamboyant flick of his wrist. He strolls out into the room with a little twirl as he nears Jimin. He bounces next to him on the bed.

 

“Sorry you have to room with me again,” Jimin apologizes. He’s already roomed with Hoseok once on this tour. That’s more than enough pity cuddling for one guy to have to endure. He cringes internally, but Hoseok slaps his shoulder anyhow.

 

“You’re my favorite anyway,” Hoseok smiles brightly. Jimin is reminded of the sun.

 

“Lies,” Jimin denies astutely, but he’s smiling too.

 

“I would _never_ lie to you.” Hoseok brings his hand up to his heart in mock hurt, as if offended by the very idea. The towel slips from where it’s tied around his shoulder and pools in his lap. Jimin stares holes into the wall. “Besides,” he adds after a little while. An arm snakes around Jimin’s waist. “We have the most fun together.”

 

Jimin doesn’t have a chance to decipher what that means before Hoseok’s hands are on him. Those big, strong hands. The fingers dig into his sides, tickling him. Jimin tries and fails to stifle a yelp as he doubles over with a choke. At Hoseok’s complete mercy, he squirms on the bed, breathless giggles and protests vibrating off the walls. Yoongi rolls over and smashes his face into his pillow with a polite  _“shut the hell up."_

 

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jimin groans. Hoseok’s hands finally cease their attack, flattening against Jimin’s skin under his shirt. Somewhere amid the playfulness, they’d skidded under the fabric and landed on his hips. Jimin vaguely notes that Hoseok’s hands are big and warm. It’s a weird thought that makes Jimin’s stomach do a weird little flip low in his tummy.

 

“You should shower,” Hoseok voices after they’ve both calmed down and caught their breaths.

 

“I wanted to shower with you,” Jimin replies. Hoseok smiles softly, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his own.

 

“Next time, Jiminnie.”

 

Maybe it’s pathetic that Jimin feels a rush of hope.

 

 

♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

It’s some time that night, as he feels Hoseok slip out of bed with him and climb under the covers with Yoongi, that Jimin realizes crushes are overrated.

 

Really, _really_ overrated.

 

Jimin’s not one to have crushes. From a young age, he’s never really taken that kind of interest in others. It doesn’t help his case that Jimin’s shy with things of that nature. He’s never felt particularly comfortable in his own skin, so he can’t imagine how anyone else could be ecstatic about it either. He’s just kind of always... _there_ , watching from the sidelines as someone else takes the reins. As one girl had told him in middle school, he doesn’t assert himself like ‘all the other boys.’ Jimin isn’t sure he knows what that means for his love life.

 

Still, Jimin has always been a people-person. He cares about his friends like they’re family. If they’re hurting, Jimin’s hurting. If they’re happy, Jimin's happy. He’s as supportive and caring as he can be, always. He goes to great lengths to make sure those around him are comfortable and on the off-chance they aren’t, he does everything in his power to change that. He lets anyone come to him with their problems and he’ll play with their hair and tell them he loves them without any harsh words or judgment. He’s just the type of person that cares a lot.

 

But no one cares about Jimin as much as Jimin cares about everyone else.

 

He’s realized it before, even if it was only a fleeting thought. He was seven. It was his birthday and he was excited to finally be having a real party with kids from school. He’d spent the entire month planning the whole thing out: the invites, the decorations, the whole shebang. He was so happy to have them all gathered and to get lots of presents and cake and ice cream and play _Twister_ in his basement. Maybe they’d have a water-gun battle too; he wasn’t sure.

 

The weather on the day of the party was great as well. It was still warm enough to play outside barefoot and Jimin thought this must be fate. But by the time one o’clock rolled around and all his decorations were put up and the cake ready and on the dining room table, he didn’t find what he’d been looking for. Not the friends that’d sworn to be there. Not the swarm of relatives that always crashed his family's parties. Not the presents. Not a game of _Twister_ in his basement. Suddenly, he was all alone.

 

But still, he waited. He sat outside for two hours waiting, his favorite action figure and _Twister_ under his arm.

 

No one came.

 

He still isn’t sure what happened that day. His mom reassured him over and over again that something must’ve happened and that Jimin had done nothing wrong. But at seven, Jimin couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he’d been bad. Maybe he hadn’t lived up to their expectations and this was his friends’ way of telling him they didn’t want to play anymore. Maybe this was his way of being punished. Maybe he deserved it.

 

Maybe he isn’t good enough.

 

Lying in bed, now alone, Jimin feels tears prick at his closed eyelids. He wipes them away furiously with the back of his hand. He’s not going to cry. He _isn’t_.

 

His ears pick up on someone whispering. It sounds like Hoseok but Jimin can’t hear well enough to tell. His heartbeat races at the thought of his hyung noticing him. He shrinks under the covers.

 

_“You’re going to wake him.”_

 

Yoongi. Jimin just catches the rough edges of his hyung's voice rise from the depths of the other bed. Jimin can imagine him scowling grumpily into the darkness at nothing in particular. But who knows, maybe the resentment is aimed at Jimin. He wouldn’t be surprised.

 

“Stop being paranoid,” Hoseok returns warmly. “He sleeps like the dead. A little foolin’ around ain’t gonna wake him up, Yoongi.”

 

Yoongi guffaws quietly. “I’m not willing to take any chances.”

 

There’s a pause. Jimin hears the blankets shift as someone presumably pushes them back.

 

“You know you want to,” Hoseok says, the lilt to his tone suggesting more than Jimin would be able to leave up to interpretation. He feels his cheeks heat. He shouldn’t be witnessing this bizarre encounter. He desperately hopes for an out. But he can’t get up and lock himself in the bathroom or else they’d know he’d been listening. And if he stays where he is, he’ll be subjected to whatever the two in the other bed think they can get away with.

 

Jimin’s thoughts are interrupted by Yoongi as he says, “Oh, shut up, you,” and proceeds to chuckle. It’s clearly Yoongi, but it’s strange. It sounds foreign. It’s not the gruff, irritated tone Yoongi directs at Jimin. Jimin can hear his smile. His _real_ smile. The gummy one that shows all his teeth. The one that scrunches up his eyes and makes Jimin stop breathing. Jimin’s favorite Yoongi smile. The one he rarely gets to see.

 

“Stop being so loud,” Hoseok hisses. “You’ll wake the baby.”

 

One of them yawns. Through the darkness, Jimin can see Yoongi sit up abruptly.

 

“Are you actually tired?” Yoongi demands, incredulous. "You just came onto me and here you are not even going through with it! Idiot."

 

Jimin can imagine Hoseok rolling his eyes playfully as he says, “Yes. Unlike you, I have to put up with people all day long.”

 

“Oh please. You mean Jimin or Taehyung? They’re basically puppies. Try dealing with _Namjoon_ all day. I can’t get two minutes of shut-eye without him flaming my ass for being lazy.”

 

“Well, he’d be right,” Hoseok states sagely. Yoongi settles back into bed, lying on his side this time. Hoseok puffs out some air, and there’s more shifting. Jimin can hear the blankets and sheets being pulled over the two boys. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see them curled up together under them.

 

The room falls silent again. Jimin doesn’t dare move. It’s not until he can hear Hoseok’s breathing deepen and Yoongi’s soft snores that Jimin ventures to let the tears fall freely. He brings the blanket up to his face, cradling it against his cheek as he rolls himself into a tight ball. A sob leaves his body before he can stop it, but the other boys are already gone. They’re sleeping peacefully together. Somehow, that makes Jimin cry harder.

 

He feels seven all over again, except he knows exactly why no one likes him this time.

 

Jimin is gross. Jimin likes his two best friends.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey it's me again with the shitty updates !  
> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

Hoseok has a problem.

 

He tells himself it’s okay, though. He’s Hoseok, the dependable hyung that has more energy than brain cells. Well, that’s what Taehyung calls him, at least. He’s not so sure about the energy part, but he knows for certain that this problem isn’t as _okay_ as he convinces himself it is.

 

But it’ll be fine. Hoseok knows how to lie.

 

He hopes.

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

“You look like shit.”

 

Jeongguk’s voice breaks Hoseok from his thoughts. He glances up from the phone left idly in his hand, yanking an earbud from his ear. He hadn’t been listening to anything. The music stopped a long time ago but Hoseok didn’t even notice until now. He squints at the youngest.

 

“And you don’t?” He retorts dryly. Jeongguk gapes at him from his swivel chair across the room. They’re backstage, getting ready for the last performance of their tour. Jeongguk is still waiting for his makeup to be done. His skin, baby smooth looking even from this distance, is bare and spotted with peach fuzz. Jin keeps nagging that the kid needs to start shaving it already, but Jeongguk had bemoaned the very mention of removing his beard-in-the-works. Hoseok doesn’t delude himself into thinking that will go over well with the makeup noonas. Still, it’s better to leave Jeongguk to figure that out for himself.

 

“You _wish_ you looked this shitty,” Jeongguk says proudly, puffing his chest.

 

Yoongi, across the room, snorts a laugh. “Is that an accomplishment?” When Jeongguk nods, Yoongi continues on. “Should I congratulate you? Does Jungkookie want a gold star?”

 

Unfazed by the patronizing tone, Jeongguk nods again, and Yoongi curls his finger at him from his position on one of the couches against the far wall. Jeongguk bounces over and takes a seat next to Yoongi, who slips his shoe from his foot and smacks the youngest over the head with it.

 

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jeongguk whines. He holds his head in his hands like a child, fake crying.

 

“Stop acting like a baby,” Yoongi chides, but his tone is fond and Hoseok looks over in time to catch him petting Jeongguk’s hair with a small smile. He feels a smile of his own form on his face. He’s glad the two of them are okay after Jeongguk’s hissy-fit a couple weeks ago. The two boys may not appear close at first glance, their personalities too different and their age gap too wide, but Yoongi, like the rest of them, has a soft spot for Jeongguk. Still, when things directly affecting Yoongi or his wellbeing are changed or altered without his permission, he tends to get a bit more snarky than usual. Unfortunately, some of them are forced to bear the brunt of his attitude more than others.

 

Like Jimin.

 

Hoseok gets up from his own chair now. His body moans in exhaustion at the excursion. Usually, he doesn’t start to feel his muscles ache until _after_ their performance. Most of the time, he’s okay to fake his standard energy and charm. Maybe he’s a bit under the weather. He has been training and practicing a bit more than he normally does. Perhaps it’s only affecting him now. The fact that he’s slept little more than a few hours each day is a force to be reckoned with as well. All of this should be familiar to him, though. Isn’t he supposed to have “boundless energy”? What’s the point of a mood-maker if he’s moping about all the time?

 

Hoseok sighs in irritation. Great mood-maker he is.

 

He somehow manages to drag his body across the room and to the door. The others are changing in the room beyond, getting into their stage outfits and probably screwing around. He doesn’t bother knocking as he enters. No one’s dead or naked inside so it’s already a better day than yesterday.

 

“Are you sure?” Taehyung is asking almost softly enough for Hoseok to miss. Jimin and Taehyung are standing in the corner by the clothes rack and Namjoon is pretending not to watch them from a chair nearby. Taehyung has a pair of pants in his hands, Jimin not wearing any of his own. His toned legs and muscular thighs are only adorned by a pair of boxers and are in full view for Hoseok as he opens the door.

 

“Yes,” Jimin snaps. “I know how to manage it.”

 

Namjoon and Hoseok raise their eyebrows simultaneously, their eyes meeting across the room. Jimin’s tone is sharp, impatient. Hoseok can imagine the sneer on the younger’s face even though Jimin’s back is turned to him. He makes his way over to where the two boys are standing.

 

“What’s going on?” He probes. Jimin turns and gives him an irritated look.

 

“That’s none of your _business_. It’s not anyone’s but _mine_.”

 

Namjoon whistles from his chair. “Well damn, Chim.”

 

“Stay out of this,” Jimin hisses. He shoots a particularly spiteful look in Namjoon’s direction before folding his arms over his chest. For some reason, Hoseok feels a wave of protectiveness wash over him at the display. Jimin is clearly uncomfortable with whatever it is he’s discussing with Taehyung, and poking the bear will do nothing to diffuse the situation.

 

Taehyung plants a hand on his hip and observes Jimin’s disrespectful attitude with contempt. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or what?” He bites. Hoseok is momentarily lost for words. Who knew Taehyung could sound that venomous?

 

Jimin laughs bitterly, feigning indifference but falling short on the mark. “Like you would even care.”

 

Hoseok blinks in surprise. Well, that’s certainly new, too.

 

“Don’t play coy,” Taehyung all but sneers. “You know exactly what you’re doing, yet you don’t give a shit. _Then_ you have the audacity to act like _we’re_ the ones that don’t care.”

 

“Uh, guys—” Hoseok tries to interject. He’s interrupted by Jimin growling. He does a double take. “Did you—Jimin, did you just _growl?_ ”

 

“I think this is the part where we intervene before they rip each other apart like wild animals,” Namjoon calls lazily from his chair, ever the voice of reason. He crosses his left leg over his right but otherwise makes no move to aid in the aforementioned intervention.

 

Taehyung and Jimin, on the other hand, appear to be on the verge of tears or World War III. Hoseok can’t say the sight is exactly welcoming. For as long as Hoseok has known the two younger boys, they’ve been attached at the hip. Everywhere Jimin goes, so goes Taehyung. Everywhere Taehyung goes, Jimin is likely to follow closely in toe. Hoseok hasn’t so much as seen them fight before—at least, nothing as serious as this seems to be. Every other petty argument pales in comparison. Judging by their expressions alone, this one may be the wave to finally rock the boat. Hoseok isn’t going to just stand by and let that happen. Plus, he’s pretty sure Taehyung never learned how to swim.

 

“So, as entertaining as this may be,” Hoseok puts a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders, “we kind of have a show to put on. You know, the one for all those fans out there? The screaming, crying fans? The fans that have literally payed their hard-earned money to see you two dipshits smile and giggle and be friends?” He pauses to smack both their chests. “I don’t care if you’re currently fighting over the last piece of chicken or your conflicting morals. I need you two to suppress it for now. We’re professionals: we have a job to do.”

 

The room adopts an expectant sort of silence, as if god is waiting for the players’ next moves. Neither Jimin nor Taehyung says anything, not even daring to glance at one another. Namjoon is quiet too.

 

 _“Well?”_ Hoseok prompts.

 

Taehyung moves first. He pokes Jimin’s forearm gently, his lips pulled down in a pout and his brows squished in a frown. Reluctantly, he says, “I’m sorry. I guess.”

 

Hoseok counts that as a win in his book, but Jimin apparently has other thoughts.

 

“You _guess?”_

 

“No use lying,” Taehyung spits. “Oh wait, I forgot you’re so screwed you can’t tell lies from the truth anymore.”

 

“That’s not nice,” Jimin murmurs. “I wasn’t lying to you—”

 

“Lie by omission! It’s still a lie, Jimin. Even if you meant well.”

 

“That’s not—I didn’t—you can’t just... _pin_ that on me like that,” Jimin croaks, and he’s leaning dangerously towards tears. His eyes are growing alarmingly wet, and if nothing is done, they’ll likely have to pay for it in the tabloids.

 

Hoseok motions to Namjoon across the room and finally, their leader rises to the occasion and his feet and fills in the gap of their little semi-circle.

 

“Well, this has been fun,” Namjoon deadpans. “Taehyung, come with me for a bit?”

 

Taehyung appears to want to object. But from experience, he keeps his mouth shut and obeys, albeit hesitantly and with his forehead brushing the floor.

 

Namjoon corrals Taehyung into the other room where the others are probably all ready to go by now. Once the door is shut, Hoseok flops onto the couch with a huff. He pats the place beside him and Jimin stares at it dumbly.

 

“Sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out,” Hoseok sighs wearily.

 

“I... I don’t feel good. You should stay away from me... so you don’t get sick,” Jimin says, not moving from where he’s standing. He plays with the ends of his sweater. It’s a strange juxtaposition for him to be standing there so vulnerable whilst still being pant-less. If the situation wasn’t so tense, Hoseok might’ve laughed.

 

“Sick my ass,” Hoseok pulls Jimin down onto the couch with him by the arm. He settles back on the sofa with the younger boy beside him, looking small and exposed curled up on the large piece of furniture. “What’s _really_ the problem?”

 

Jimin chews on his bottom lip, resting his head on the back of the couch. His small hand finds Hoseok’s and he slots their fingers together with a little squeeze. Hoseok squeezes right back.

 

“It’s too difficult.”

 

Hoseok hums. Yeah, living with six guys isn’t easy. Yeah, being an international celebrity ain’t a walk in the part. Yeah, being in love kind of sucks. Lots of things in life are difficult. That’s what makes those that survive its G-forces so fucking epic.

 

Hoseok fondles the younger boy’s hair instead of saying anything unnecessary. Jimin’s eyes jut around the room impatiently. He looks to the door, then at the scuff mark that Jeongguk and Taehyung left on the wall, before his head lulls to the side and he’s staring directly at Hoseok.

 

“I’ve gained weight again,” he states. There’s no sugar-coating here, whether in tone or word choice. He’s cool as a cucumber, eerily calm, as if he’s resigned to his fate and this is simply an occupational hazard.

 

“Did someone say something?” Hoseok asks carefully, skirting around the vat of acid. “Is that why you and Taehyung were fighting?”

 

“Yes. I didn’t want to tell him about it, but... he found out anyway.”

 

Jimin makes a face. It’s something stuck between a grimace and a scowl. He squeezes Hoseok’s hand hard enough to crush it, but he only seems to scowl harder at this. The circulation is cut off, making Hoseok’s hand go numb. He can feel Jimin’s rings digging into his skin. His hand turns as dark as a plum before Jimin lets his hand go. He stares down at it and his face relaxes.

 

“It wasn’t a lot of weight,” he laughs humorlessly, a hiccup splattered somewhere in the middle. It comes out sounding more like a sob. He bites his lip.

 

Hoseok gives him a sympathetic look. “Do you want a hug?”

 

He doesn’t need to ask. Jimin climbs into his lap immediately, body sinking and anchoring to Hoseok tightly. He buries his face into Hoseok’s chest and clings to him like his life depends on it. Hoseok can feel his shirt getting wet from Jimin’s tears but he doesn’t mention it. Resting his cheek against the top of Jimin’s head, he hums as his hands rub soothing shapes onto Jimin’s back. He can smell the pomegranate shampoo Jimin uses and the boy’s hair tickles his face as he sniffs, making him smile.

 

“Gaining weight isn’t always a bad thing,” he speaks up after a while. Jimin lifts his head from Hoseok’s chest. His eyes are red. When he breathes out, the hot air fans against Hoseok’s face. He blinks a few times.

 

“There’s nothing good about being fat,” he wipes his eyes. That ice-cold tone is back.

 

Hoseok pinches Jimin’s bare thigh. “I’m _serious_ , Jimin. You’re anything but fat,” he insists.

 

Jimin shrinks. “I didn’t _ask_.” 

 

It’s always like this. It’s like this every time, yet it still gets on Hoseok’s nerves. As much as he hates himself for thinking it, he wants to slap Jimin. He wants to smack these ridiculous thoughts out of his head. He’s obviously delusional about the topic. It won’t matter what Hoseok says on the subject, and that makes Hoseok’s heart sink. He wants Jimin to stop. He should be cocky, stuck up from all the attention he gets, _something_.

 

Jimin’s always the same, though, and Hoseok kind of wishes Jimin would change already. If not a lot, then enough to realize he’s already good enough as he is.

 

Jimin loosens his hold on Hoseok, glancing down at the tear-stained shirt in front of him. “Sorry,” he whispers.

 

“A couple tears never hurt nobody,” Hoseok waves a hand as if physically swatting Jimin’s apology away. Jimin’s face cracks.

 

“That’s a double negative, hyung,” he teases with a little smile peeking through. Hoseok briefly thinks it’s like seeing sunshine after a storm or some shit.

 

After a moment’s silence, Jimin speaks up again. “I should go get my makeup done,” he decides, detaching himself from Hoseok’s embrace. He sits back and peeps up at Hoseok’s face from behind the mess of hair wilting on his forehead.

 

“They should just let you go out like this,” Hoseok muses, bringing his fingers up to dance over the apples of Jimin’s cheeks. It’s smooth and soft against the pads of his fingers. “Your skin is beautiful.”

 

The ends of Jimin’s mouth tug upward shyly. “Your skin is prettier, hyung.”

 

Hoseok notices the pink his fingertips leave behind as they return to their place in his lap. He grins at Jimin. There’s a warm, lovely feeling growing in his chest. It blossoms throughout his body as he leans forward and kisses Jimin’s cheek. The skin is just as soft against his lips. Jimin squeaks.

 

“Now go before you piss someone else off,” Hoseok orders fondly. “And stop with the attitude. You’re prettier when you’re smiling.”

 

Jimin stumbles off Hoseok’s lap and bows a little, flushed. Hoseok shuffles him out of the room. He pretends he doesn’t feel significantly better now. He pretends that’s normal.

 

His problem can wait.

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Hoseok doesn’t know when this _thing_ with Yoongi started. Maybe he was starved for attention. Maybe he just wanted someone to tell him when to shut the fuck up. Maybe it isn’t a thing at all. All Hoseok knows is that he’s too far out of his league to stop it.

 

But he’s working through it. No one’s noticed anything yet, thankfully. He’s told Yoongi that doing anything now that Jimin’s sharing a room with them is risky as hell, but Yoongi, being Yoongi, doesn’t give two shits. It should piss Hoseok off, but he really doesn’t mind. He likes kissing Yoongi. He also likes what kissing Yoongi leads to.

 

Which is exactly why he doesn’t protest when Yoongi slips into the bathroom with him one night after practice.

 

It’s late, around two in the morning. Jimin is still back at the studio, practicing new choreography with Jeongguk, and the others are off doing whatever they do at two a.m. No one is around to see them, yet it’s not late enough to completely ground Hoseok. He finds himself nervously watching the door as if expecting to see one of the others come strolling in and catch him sitting on the edge of the sink with Yoongi between his legs. He knows he should be able to focus with Yoongi’s hands on him. They’re everywhere: in his hair, skidding across his chest, and even traveling down to trace the line of his spine. Hoseok still doesn’t feel quite there, though. He feels like he might float away at any second.

 

“Pay attention to me,” Yoongi demands, jerking Hoseok from a semi-trance he didn’t realize he’d fallen into. Yoongi releases his grip on Hoseok’s waist to roughly grab the younger boy by the jaw and turn his face and attention back towards him.

 

“How much more of my attention do you need?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow, grinning. He gestures down to his crotch and Yoongi grunts.

 

“You little shit. You’re annoying.”

 

Hoseok smirks a little and wraps his legs around Yoongi’s waist, trapping him there. Yoongi, in turn, presses against him, their lips finding each other again and slotting together. Hoseok wouldn’t say they slot together perfectly because that’s fluff for fairytales, but it’s the closest to perfect Hoseok’s ever gotten. Yoongi’s mouth, Yoongi’s tongue, _Yoongi._ It’s great.

 

But Hoseok hates it.

 

Yoongi is aggressive. He’s aggressive in just about everything he does besides sleeping, so it really shouldn’t be a surprise that he also is in bed. He’s demanding, larger than life. Hoseok can’t lie and say it’s not a turn on, but at the same time, it makes him question it at times. Yoongi isn’t physically violent. He isn’t that kind of guy and never has been; yet, he’s assertive and forceful the second anything turns sexual. He leaves no room for objection on Hoseok’s part. But maybe that’s for the best. Hoseok is too afraid of what the consequences will be if he denies Yoongi, and he’s too scared of what it means that he doesn’t want to.

 

Hoseok can’t bring himself to hate Yoongi’s forceful, slobbery mouth-sucking or the tongue he has halfway down Hoseok’s throat. He hates it but he doesn’t. It’s complicated.

 

It’s a problem.

 

Something like a moan escapes Hoseok’s mouth. Yoongi’s hands are mapping out every inch of his body, his lips making a wet trail down Hoseok’s neck and marking spots with his teeth. He sucks on a place somewhere near Hoseok’s ear and circles it with his tongue and the younger boy’s panting can probably be heard everywhere in the dorm. It feels like Yoongi is swallowing him whole, stopping only to occasionally chew on a hickey or his earlobe. Yoongi is everywhere and Hoseok likes it. It’s _overwhelming_.

 

Yoongi seems to like it, too, if the tent in his shorts and the little groans muffled in Hoseok’s skin are anything to go by.

 

“W-what, uh, about the others?” Hoseok huffs and puffs as his own shorts are removed. “Like Jeongguk or—ah, _hyung_ , please be g-gentle—”

 

Yoongi shushes him with a finger pressed against his open mouth. His dark eyes find Hoseok’s in the semi-darkness of the poorly lit bathroom and Hoseok looks back, tiny. His thighs are bare save the thin material of his boxers and Yoongi runs his hands up and down the exposed skin.

 

“Stop worrying, Hoseok,” he replies like it doesn’t matter at all. It sounds too harsh to Hoseok's ears. He swallows.

 

“But Jimin—”

 

Yoongi’s nails dig into Hoseok’s thighs, and he yelps. Little half crescents are left in their wake. “Leave Jimin out of this,” he says lowly, and Hoseok has no room to complain. His boxers are being slid down his legs and Yoongi has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

 

Hoseok really should hate this. His problem is a little bigger than anything he’s dealt with before, but he can’t help it. He hates Yoongi, but Yoongi’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

 

It’s complicated.

 

_It's a problem._

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

It’s a few weeks later that Hoseok decides he can’t do this alone.

 

It’s not Yoongi or Jimin he goes to, though. He tells himself that it's because it’s not convenient to go to them. He’s definitely not _avoiding_ them or anything. He just needs some time away from the two other boys and, plus, Yoongi’s advice kind of fucking sucks. He’d probably get offended or blow things way out of proportion. And Jimin means well, but he’d probably start crying or something unnecessary. What Hoseok needs is someone to tell him to grow the fuck up, preferably in the nicest way possible. Jin’s not gentle enough for that, so Hoseok goes to Namjoon.

 

He hasn’t seen him since sometime yesterday. He’s been locked away in his studio for god knows how long, but the light creeping out from under the door is as good a sign as any that Namjoon is still alive. Might not be the best time to disrupt Namjoon’s creative flow, but Hoseok doesn’t have much of a choice.

 

He doesn’t stop to knock. Namjoon’s probably tuned out with his headphones on, anyway. He pushes the door open and sure enough, Namjoon is seated at his desk, dead to the world. He’s hiding behind stacks and stacks of loose papers, the glasses on his nose not quite camouflaging the dark circles framing his eyes. Hoseok taps him on the shoulder. 

 

Namjoon jumps two feet in the air.

 

“Jesus Christ on _Christmas_ ,” he nearly shrieks, turning around abruptly with a wild, startled look on his face. The look quickly dissolves as he notices Hoseok, though. He slides his earphones off his head.

 

“Sorry to scare you,” Hoseok says with a forced laugh. 

 

“That’s alright. You know me; I’m jumpy to begin with,” Namjoon laughs as well. It’s the easiest sound Hoseok’s ever heard.

 

Hoseok takes a seat on a cardboard box next to the desk, Namjoon turning around again and going back to whatever he was doing. He looks around the room for lack of anything better to do. Trash and music sheets are strewn about the room, a dirty sock even hanging halfway off Namjoon’s computer screen. There’s an empty pizza box near Hoseok’s feet but he can’t think of the last time any of them ordered a pizza. His nose wrinkles in disgust.

 

“When’s the last time you cleaned in here? It’s disgusting.”

 

Namjoon just grunts. 

 

The room settles into a comfortable silence. Namjoon’s humming and keyboard taps are the only things to break the reverie. Hoseok swings his legs and thinks to himself. He doesn’t know what box he’s sitting on or if it’s going to collapse at any second, but he swings his legs anyway because he honestly doesn’t give much of a fuck.

 

He swings a little more before words come spilling out of his mouth.

 

“Do you think it’s possible to be happy all the time?”

 

Hoseok never meant for this to be a coherent thought, let alone an actual question he verbalizes.

 

Namjoon spins around in his chair and gives Hoseok a look. “That’s a heavy question,” he responds after a few seconds. Hoseok can tell he’s shocked by the question but is doing his best to cover it with his calm ‘leader face’. Hoseok gives him kudos for that, at the very least.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know where that came from,” Hoseok admits with another forced laugh and a scratch to his neck. Namjoon’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he strings together a sentence that makes sense.

 

“Are you not happy, hyung?”

 

“I’m fine,” Hoseok replies instantly, “I’m fine.”

 

Namjoon shakes his head softly. “That’s not what I asked. I didn’t ask how you’re doing, I asked are you _happy_.”

 

Hoseok slumps on his cardboard box throne, his brain slumping further. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

 

“That’s like saying chocolate and brownies are interchangeable,” Namjoon bellows with a loud cackle. Hoseok doesn’t get the joke, mostly because he doesn’t really know what interchangeable means, but that’s how most of Namjoon’s jokes go. He’s too smart to be funny. Or Hoseok is just stupid. It could be either, really.

 

Namjoon takes his glasses off and sets them on the table next to him, wiping at his eyes. He puts them safely back on his face before sobering up and observing Hoseok seriously.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

 

“What’s there to talk about?”

 

“Hoseok.”

 

“I told you, I’m _fine_.”

 

“Brownies, my friend,” Namjoon frowns.

 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Sure, I’m happy.”

 

Namjoon sighs. “You can be fine and not be happy at the same time,” he starts with a shrug. “You can be fine in the sense that you’re not injured or dead or some shit, but that doesn’t guarantee you’re happy as well. You could, like, find out your grandma has cancer or something and that’d be pretty shitty. _You_ don’t have cancer, but the fact that someone else you love does is keeping you from being happy. You see what I’m saying?”

 

“I mean I guess,” Hoseok swings his legs again while he thinks it over. “But I don’t know anyone with cancer and my life is pretty great. I have no reason to _not_ be happy.”

 

“So _are_ you?”

 

Hoseok licks his lips nervously. Namjoon looks at him curiously, slight concern etched into his face where his smile lines are supposed to be. Hoseok wrings his hands in his lap, exhaling softly. 

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

Namjoon seems content with that answer. He twirls back around again and it’s several minutes before he says anything else. His tone is distant as he sends a tired smile over his shoulder.

 

“It’s okay if you can’t be happy all the time, Hoseok. That just means you’re human.”

 

Hoseok considers this as he leaves the studio and crawls under the covers on Yoongi’s bed. Yoongi mumbles something about black bean noodles in his sleep, his warm body instantly curling into Hoseok’s side, and it’s the realest Hoseok’s felt in weeks. He can hear the sleeping boy’s breath and can feel it against the side of his face. He can hear Jimin’s soft snores, too, probably sound asleep and dreaming in the other bed. Hoseok doesn’t sleep, though. Instead, he stays awake for a while, just listening and feeling. In the darkness, his problem doesn’t seem as horrific as it had before. Maybe he can solve this himself.

 

Maybe he can be happy, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of dubious consent. Implied/referenced eating disorder and internalized homophobia.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

There are a lot of things that irritate Yoongi.

 

There are countless things that rub him the wrong way, consisting mostly of mild inconveniences or his bothersome bandmates. Like Hoseok using his laptop to watch his fucking porn or Hoseok leaving said porn up for Jeongguk to find and rummage through. Yoongi never got to hear the end of _that_ one, especially from Hoseok, who found the whole thing hilarious. And sure, it was irritating, and it’s annoying that Hoseok and Jeongguk now have some kind of weird bond conceived from their shared pornography tastes, but it’s nothing that’s life-ending. Most of Yoongi’s problems are dumb excuses to throw a fit at three in the morning. Most of them can be solved with minimal effort. As the saying goes, there’s no use crying over spilt milk.

 

Yoongi can’t tell if he’s currently the milk or the crier in this scenario.  

 

Namjoon stares at him from across the table, a stern expression set into his face like stone. He’s tapping his nails against the surface of the dinner table with what Yoongi can only call extreme duress. There’s a bowl of untouched ramen sitting between them, probably cold now. Yoongi can’t bring himself to even look at it. Inside of him, his stomach is twisting and wringing itself out. He can feel his lunch working itself up his esophagus. He stares at his fingers pawing the material of his shorts.

 

“How long?” Namjoon’s voice comes out gentler than his expression. It's a striking juxtaposition that leaves Yoongi spread thin and cold.

 

Yoongi swallows. It feels as if his throat is going to close up entirely. “It was one time,” he whispers hoarsely.

 

“One time my ass,” Namjoon laughs, but there’s no humor to it. Yoongi sinks into his chair. He can hear the others going about their business in other parts of the dorm. Taehyung is humming as he scrubs dishes just a few feet away, Jeongguk attempting to harmonize and succeeding (much to Yoongi’s annoyance). The others are probably in their rooms, but listening in all the same. It’s all insignificant now, though, because Namjoon is staring at him intensely and all Yoongi wants to do is curl into a ball and die.

 

Maybe cry too, but whatever.

 

He hears Namjoon sigh. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His tone grows desperate as the rapping of his nails accelerates. “Why didn’t you—I don’t know, speak up? Tell someone, y’know? I’m always here, Yoongi, I... you can always come to me with stuff. I’m—I’m always here?”

 

Yoongi glances up to see Namjoon yanking at his hair. He looks impossibly stressed. If it's at all possible, he looks more stressed than usual, which says a lot. Guild stabs Yoongi hot in the gut.

 

“I feel so—” Namjoon cuts himself off to sigh pathetically. He’s desperate to fill the space between them with anything but silence and Yoongi can tell it’s not the easiest task. He wishes they weren’t doing this in the kitchen where anyone can overhear them, but they don’t have much of a choice. He wishes they didn’t have to do this at all, and that makes his stomach drop.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Yoongi assures and it feels weird to be the one taking measures to minimize Namjoon's impending explosion. He feels tired with the pressure. “It’s not anyone’s fault but mine.”

 

Namjoon looks like he wants to slap Yoongi, lip turned in a nasty snarl. “Of course it’s your fault,” he snaps, “ _you_ were the one who decided to do this.”

 

It’s a little too loud. Taehyung momentarily stops his humming and the two boys by the sink turn to glance at them. Worry and concern are clouding their faces. Yoongi knows they’re trying their best to ignore Namjoon’s outbursts. Namjoon is not one to randomly blow up. No, that’s more of Yoongi’s thing. It’s Yoongi that gets into moods and flies off the handle. So for Namjoon to be doing this, and for any of them to see it happening, means it’s a big fucking deal. It makes Yoongi all the more ashamed to know that _he’s_ the one causing it. He blocks Taehyung and Jeongguk from his line of vision by going back to staring holes into his lap.

 

There's a pregnant pause before Namjoon sighs again.

 

“I’m just trying to understand,” he confesses. His voice is drained, painfully sad. "I can't—I don't know how to deal with this. There's already a lot on my plate. I'm trying to see why. Please, I just—" He scrubs a hand over his face. His eyebrows are pulling together in a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

 

“I know,” Yoongi replies, small, because he does. He knows he deserves this. It isn't anything to be taken lightly. He could be sent away for this, locked up.

 

He quickly pushes that thought away.

 

“I’m going to have to figure something out," Namjoon says robotically. It sounds horribly artificial. Practiced.

 

“I know,” Yoongi repeats.

 

There’s a beat of silence in which neither of them moves. Namjoon apologizes softly and Yoongi wants to scream. He doesn't protest when Namjoon presses a reassuring hand to his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. He isn't sure how it's supposed to be anything other than suffocating. He can’t breathe.

 

He’s not irritated. Yoongi just wants to cry.

 

 

♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Yoongi _doesn’t_ cry.

 

He doesn’t cry when people yell at him. He doesn’t cry when people hit him. He didn’t even cry when his childhood pet died. He tells himself he’s tough, doesn’t let things affect him. There isn’t much in life that can genuinely get that kind of reaction out of him.

 

Yoongi is sweating.

 

His eyes are sweating, too, but that’s beside the point. His whole body is sweating. He’s sweating in places he didn’t know possible, so it really doesn’t make much difference if there’s a liquid coming out of his eyes or not. It’s not like anyone else will notice. It’s not like anyone’s going to stop and wonder why he’s curled up on the bathroom floor with tears staining his cheeks.

 

Probably because the door is shut but mostly because it’s Yoongi and no one has spare time to care.

 

Well, everyone but Hoseok, maybe. 

 

“Hyung, what are you doing on the floor?!”

 

Hoseok’s alarmed voice echoes throughout the bathroom. Yoongi doesn’t move from his position on the tile. The younger boy approaches quickly, his voice and heavy footsteps loud in the small space. It rings in Yoongi’s ears. He ignores the pounding in his own head in favor of closing his eyes as Hoseok kneels down next to him. The movement only succeeds in making him curl into himself further.

 

“Go away, Hoseok,” he tries weakly, not bothering to open his eyes when Hoseok makes a pained noise. He doesn’t want to look at anyone. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He doesn't _want this._

 

“Are you _okay_ , though?” Hoseok asks in alarm. He makes himself comfortable on the cold tiles, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping an arm around them. He pokes Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi grunts.

 

“Just _peachy_.”

 

Hoseok doesn’t question it. Instead, he pats Yoongi’s butt in a weird, reassuring gesture. His voice is even when he begins speaking. “I heard Namjoon yelling,” he says. Yoongi doesn’t respond, though if Hoseok’s sharp intake of breath is anything to go by, Yoongi knows exactly what this is going to be. “I heard the majority of what went down from Jeongguk and Taehyung.”

 

He doesn’t stop Yoongi as he folds into himself. He rests his head on his arm and brings the other to shield his eyes from the younger boy. He doesn’t want him seeing his red, puffy face flush with embarrassment and shame.

 

“I didn’t tell Namjoon, though. I’m not sure how he found out.”

 

It’s supposed to be a reassuraing statement, comforting maybe, but it only causes Yoongi’s anxiety to skyrocket. His chest feels strung so tight it might as well be a fucking harp.

 

_Yoongi doesn’t cry._

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hoseok questions with such a sad, caring tone that Yoongi might actually throw up. He shakes his head. Hoseok hums in response.

 

“We can find you help, you know,” he remarks casually. It’s almost as if he isn’t completely disgusted with Yoongi. It’s almost as if he hasn’t been pretending to ignore the marks on Yoongi’s body for the past year. It’s almost as if Hoseok just... doesn’t care. It doesn’t make sense to Yoongi. He, himself, can’t stand to see himself sometimes. How the hell is Hoseok so desensitized that he’s actually anything other than _revolted_ by Yoongi’s actions?

 

Yoongi sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to keep his emotions at bay. Hoseok is still talking.

 

“You’ll have to like... start therapy or something. I’m not sure how, but we’ll figure something out. It'll be hard, since we're famous. But we can get through this together, Yoongi. We can keep it under wraps. The fans can’t find out about this. They’d think it’s...”

 

 _Disgusting,_ Yoongi's brain finishes for him. He knows it well. He's already had to deal with the bitter disappointment from friends and family, but fans... _fans_ are a different story. Yoongi would like to say he’s prepared for when that day will come. But judging by the events of today, he isn’t at all. And the day _will_ come. Despite his best efforts, it always does. No matter what he does to stop it, he’s stripped naked again and again to be poked and prodded at. The fact that there’s nothing he can do to stop it settles Yoongi’s body into a cold panic.

 

Yoongi chances a peeks up at Hoseok through the gap in his arms and the younger boy gives him a small smile. He swallows a sob.

 

“Stop looking at me like that.” Yoongi tries for forceful, demanding, but lands on weak. He's so fucking weak. 

 

“Like what?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi can’t imagine why the fuck he’d laugh in this situation.

 

Yoongi bristles like a cactus in the blazing rays of the mid-afternoon sun. “Like you _care_.”

 

Yoongi watches Hoseok’s face fall and he’s even more convinced that’s he’s a complete asshole. The feeling is almost freeing and Yoongi relishes it with a sick kind of satisfaction.

 

Hoseok fumbles for words. “O-of course I’d care? You _know_ I do. Yoongi, what the... what the fuck.”

 

Yoongi turns away again with the best shrug he can manage in his position. “You don’t act like it.”

 

Wow, he really is shit. He feels like laughing. This whole situation seems like he's staring at it through water. Is it deja-vu? Is it a dream? There's nothing funny about this, yet he wants to laugh until he cries at the mere _ridiculousness_ of it all.

 

Hoseok opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Yoongi snickers.

 

_“Pathetic.”_

 

Yoongi expects Hoseok to kick him. If not that, then he expects Hoseok to yell at him like he always does when Yoongi's being too much, to tell him to stop being a fucking _dick._

 

But nothing comes. The bathroom is eerily silent. Only the dripping faucet breaks the tense atmosphere, though it does little to distract Yoongi. Hoseok is being uncharacteristically quiet. Not even his breathing can be heard and Yoongi half thinks he’s left already. But then he feels a whoosh of air as the younger boy rises to shaky feet, peering down at Yoongi with a shuttered expression. His lips are pulled downward and there's an awful blankness to his eyes. He looks completely passive. Yoongi wants to laugh all over again.

 

“I see you want to be alone right now. I’m sorry to bother you,” Hoseok monotones mechanically, tone carefully even. Somehow it’s a lot scarier than any hitting or yelling he could’ve done.

 

Yoongi listens from the floor as Hoseok steps away again and shuts the bathroom door behind him. He doesn’t move for a long time afterward. He soaks in the silence of the bathroom, counting his heartbeats and how many times he tenses as he hears someone passing outside the door. It’s a long time before he wills himself to sit up.

 

He doesn’t feel like crying anymore.

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Hoseok doesn’t come around to their room. Not to sleep, not to grab clothes or other necessities, not even to check up on Yoongi. He doesn’t slip into the room when Yoongi’s pretending to be sleeping, either.

 

In reality, Yoongi’s worried.

 

But Yoongi doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? He can’t lie and claim that he didn’t mean anything he said in the bathroom. At the same time, he can’t exactly tell Hoseok that and expect them to suddenly be okay again. Hoseok is steadfast in his opinions, and so is Yoongi. Neither one of them is going to cave any time soon.

 

So Yoongi lies awake at night, definitely not waiting for Hoseok and absolutely _not_ missing him. He still sees Hoseok in practice and during meals, but the energetic boy looks terrible and won’t even spare Yoongi a single glance. It’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault, yet here he is. He's stuck here in an eerie between-ness that makes his skin crawl. Nothing really feels normal.

 

It’s one of these times that Yoongi is lying awake and feeling generally awful about himself that it happens.

 

He’s only crying a little bit. Sure, his pillow might be damp and his face might be streaked with salty tears, but it’s dark in the room. No one will be able to see, so it doesn’t count. Nothing counts in the dark.

 

He can feel his body screaming at him. He hasn’t slept in about three days. Not since the incident. Namjoon has taken it upon himself to watch Yoongi every waking moment. Yoongi is surprised he hasn't stuck a guard to monitor Yoongi as he sleeps. Or _doesn't sleep_ , Yoongi supposes. Still, he should be grateful for it. He can't exactly be happy for the smudge of lavender under his bloodshot eyes or the sunken look to his face, but he can pretend to be a decent human being and be understanding of Namjoon’s concern. Even if it’s overbearing at best.

 

Yoongi hears the door jiggle before the light in the hall floods into the dark room. He lies still, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the person closing the door behind them. He tries not to be hopeful. He knows Hoseok won’t come by tonight. He knows that, but he still sets himself up for disappointment.

 

It’s just Jimin. Yoongi can hear him curse as he runs into something and trips. It’s probably the bag Yoongi left there earlier. Jimin grumbles something about laziness under his breath, pulling his phone out of a pocket. Suddenly and without warning, he turns the device's flashlight on. Light fills the room. Yoongi instinctively shields his eyes from the brightness, the action not going unmissed by Jimin.

 

“Hyung?” He calls cautiously. He shines the light towards Yoongi’s bed and Yoongi could groan in frustration.

 

Yoongi hears Jimin pad across the carpet. He sets his phone on the bedside table with the light still on, facing the ceiling. It creates uncomfortable shadows around the room. Yoongi doesn’t move.

 

“Hyung, are you awake?” Jimin persists. He gently shakes Yoongi’s arm.

 

“If you’re not sure I’m awake, why would you shake me?” Yoongi bites back. He lowers his hands from his face to shoot a scowl at the younger boy. How fucking fantastic.

 

Jimin stares at him for a long moment. “Are you crying?” 

 

Yoongi furiously wipes at his eyes. “Of course not, dumbass. Why would I be crying?” He plays it off with an eye roll, but it just comes out sounding self-depreciating.

 

Jimin doesn’t look convinced. He sits on the edge of the bed stiffly, gingerly, like some kind of china doll. His lips pull down in a pout. He pouts further when Yoongi glares daggers into his skull.

 

“Does Yoongi-hyung want a hug?” Jimin scoots forward. He plonks down next to Yoongi and stretches out to him like a plant towards the sun.

 

Yoongi immediately recoils. “People like me don’t _deserve_ hugs,” he mutters to himself resentfully. Jimin cocks his head to the side. The action reminds Yoongi of a confused puppy. It's fitting somehow.

 

“Everyone deserves hugs,” Jimin answers like the innocent fluff-ball he is. The pureness to his statement makes Yoongi dig his fingernails into his palm.

 

“Not bad hyungs like me,” he reiterates with a bitter laugh.

 

“Hyung isn’t bad to me,” Jimin smiles. “You're a great hyung. I love you.”

 

Yoongi finds himself with two armfuls of Jimin. He looks at him in disbelief as Jimin plops down and attaches himself to Yoongi like some kind of weed. It’s not a bad feeling, per se, but Yoongi’s too shocked to properly comprehend what’s going on around him.

 

“You can’t possibly love me,” he insists.

 

Jimin's frown draws his eyebrows down. “Why not?”

 

“I’m so mean to you,” Yoongi contends, the increasing need to convince Jimin he can’t _ever_ love someone like him growing, expanding within his chest. The harp strings within him are being pulled again.

 

Jimin smiles sadly. It makes Yoongi want to empty what little he ate today onto the floor.

 

“Yoongi-hyung just has a hard time showing his emotions.”

 

Jimin moves slightly so he can wrap his arms around Yoongi’s neck because personal space does not exist to Jimin. He hugs the older boy tightly to himself. Yoongi can’t find the strength to move away.

 

“Why are you sad, hyung?” Jimin murmurs into Yoongi’s hair. His voice is ever patient, ever loving, so _Jimin_. He’s so comforting and so kind. Yoongi hugs back before he can stop himself.

 

He doesn’t know when or why he starts crying again. Maybe it’s because Jimin softly strokes his hair as Yoongi clings onto his pajamas. Maybe it’s because Jimin doesn’t mind when Yoongi’s snot gets everywhere and Jimin just laughs lightly and prettily and cradles Yoongi and grasps Yoongi’s bigger hand in his smaller one. Maybe it’s because Yoongi feels like shit because he keeps making the same mistakes and doesn’t know how to put things back together. Maybe it’s a lot of things. Yoongi is too exhausted to care. 

 

After a while, Jimin succeeds in calming Yoongi down enough to pull the latter's face out of his shirt. He produces tissues from somewhere in the folds of his oversized sweatshirt and Yoongi takes them gratefully, blowing his nose with obscene noises Jimin just giggles at. Jimin uses his fingertips to zigzag across Yoongi’s cheeks and to wipe away every trace of his tears and Yoongi lets him. He lays back on the bed, completely worn out, Jimin following shortly after.

 

“Do you feel better now?” Jimin peeps. Jimin’s phone has long since died and Yoongi is thankful. In the darkness, he can just make out Jimin’s face a couple of inches from his own. They’re lying face-to-face. Jimin’s legs are tangled with his own and he can feel Jimin’s breath on his neck.

 

Yoongi nods a little. “Thank you," he awkwardly expresses. His voice is raw. 

 

Jimin hums. “I wish you showed me this side of you more,” he says blissfully, but there’s a twinge of sadness to his voice that settles in Yoongi’s stomach like lead. It takes every fiber of his being not to snap at the remark. He can’t do that to Jimin. Not after everything he’s put his friends through. He doesn't have the energy right now.

 

“Namjoon is mad at me," he mumbles with a disbelieving sniff.

 

Jimin turns his face at that to scrutinize Yoongi’s expression in the dark. “Why?”

 

“I... I did something bad,” Yoongi confesses but doesn’t know why he does. Jimin sits up abruptly, panicked.

 

“What did you do? He was yelling quite a bit. I—Even if hyung did something terrible, that—”

 

Yoongi chuckles softly. “I didn’t do anything like that, don’t worry.” Jimin relaxes the tiniest amount and Yoongi pulls him back down. He drapes an arm around Jimin's shoulders, the boy's head pillowed by Yoongi's arm. Maybe it’s as reassurance. The trusting boy in front of him is almost too much for Yoongi to handle. His heart aches when Jimin snuggles into his side, unguarded and unsuspecting.

 

_Yoongi doesn’t cry._

 

“I hurt myself.”

 

Jimin doesn’t say anything. For a terrifyingly long, drawn-out moment Yoongi is reminded why he can't tell anyone. His breath catches in his throat while his brain goes a thousand miles a minute, his mouth working to keep up. His heart rate climbs as he grapples with the rising need to move away, to catch his breath, _something_.

 

“N-not like really badly or anything,” Yoongi rushes to explain. “It really wasn’t a big deal. I never meant for it to... to get around like it did. It's too personal for that. But Namjoon found out somehow a-and _Hoseok_ —" Yoongi heaves a breath to steady himself. " _No_ , he said he wouldn't say anything. He's the only one that knows. Or knew, I guess. God, everyone probably knows now." Here his voice dies away to a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. It's freaking me out that someone found out and told Namjoon without talking to me first. Like, who would do that?! That's totally a shitty move. And now Hoseok is mad at me? When is he not, I know. B-but it really feels different this time. I—I don't want to disappoint him. It was nothing and it was barely anything to flip out because of and _god_ , Namjoon probably _hates_ me but you shouldn’t because I’m really _fine_ and it won’t happen anymore and—”

 

Jimin’s hand comes up to clamp over Yoongi’s mouth. He’s out of breath, panting. He can feel his eyes stinging. He feels like he could cry all over again because Jimin’s not saying anything and he can’t look at him because he’s _terrified._

 

_What if he hates me?_

 

Bile creeps up Yoongi's throat.

 

 _**What if they all hate me** _ **_?_ **

 

“It’s okay,” Jimin says seriously. His voice is unwavering, a steady rock to the waves of panic washing over Yoongi. It’s the most serious Yoongi’s heard him in a long time.

 

“Jimin...”

 

“I mean, it’s obviously not okay but... it’ll be fine. Namjoon shouldn’t have made a scene like that,” Jimin admits, moving his hand to cup Yoongi’s cheek. Yoongi covers Jimin’s hand with his own. It's warm where Yoongi's cold. So, so cold.

 

“I’m sorry," is the best Yoongi can manage. Jimin rubs a soothing thumb over Yoongi's smooth skin. He's staring so intently at Yoongi that it's almost as if his eyes are piercing through the darkness cloaking them.

 

“Don’t be. We will all still care about you, regardless of whatever you’re going through,” Jimin smiles. There's something... there. Yoongi can't put his finger on it. Besides, it's too dark to see much, if any, of what may or may not exist behind Jimin's eyes and the pull of his lips. “But don’t suffer alone. We all want to help.”

 

Then, just a whisper, a thread being spun around Yoongi— “ _I_ want to help.”

 

For the first time, Jimin looks uncertain. He waits, seemingly breathlessly, for Yoongi to respond. Yoongi doesn't say anything. He doesn’t know what to make of that. So instead, he lets it get drowned out in the silence. He stares into the shadow-filled room.

 

“Okay,” he finally whispers back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied/referenced self-harm. Mentions of a panic attack. Depressive behavior.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

Jimin’s chest hurts. It hurts mostly from laughing too much and from Taehyung’s leg jabbing him in the stomach, but Jimin has a creeping suspicion that’s not the only reason he can’t breathe.

 

“—I’m being serious!” Jin insists. Jimin glances over to the elder and he has his arms crossed over his chest, his head thrown back defiantly.

 

Taehyung, lifting his head from the carpet, narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Really?”

 

“ _Really_. Geez, guys. My track record isn’t _that_ bad,” Jin responds, but Taehyung only rolls his eyes at his indignation.

 

“You once convinced Jimin that you can buy baby kangaroos at pet stores in Australia,” Hoseok speaks up from the other side of the couch with a laugh. Jimin shoots him a glare that Hoseok misses entirely.

 

“You should see his face right now, Hobi. He looks like he wants to kill a person,” Jin laughs. He’s seated directly in front of a box fan sitting on the kitchen table, hair flowing in the breeze. The fan makes his voice sound like some kind of robot-alien abomination. He turns just enough to give Jimin a cheeky smile.

 

“I’m ready to kill about seven,” Jimin returns with a fixed stare.

 

“I’m with you there. I could really go for some ice-cream,” Taehyung says with a smack of his lips.

 

Jin groans into the fan. “Don’t _remind me_. I had to skip dinner.”

 

Taehyung’s lying half-naked on the floor, spread out on the carpet like a starfish. If starfishes wear neon yellow basketball shorts and the air of petulance around their shoulders like a cape, that is. The boy thrashes around, just missing kicking Jimin’s face by mere millimeters. He scooches over to Jin to latch onto the older boy’s leg. Jin makes a disgusted noise, kicking him away, so Taehyung crawls back over to Jimin sitting against the wall. He leans on him with wide, expectant eyes.

 

“It’s hot, leave me alone,” Jimin pushes him away. Taehyung frowns and does the exact opposite of what was requested of him. Jimin shouldn’t be surprised.

 

“I want ice-cream,” Taehyung says it like it’s somehow Jimin’s responsibility to satisfy that desire. Jimin observes him warily.

 

“That’s _your_ problem.”

 

“Jimin,” Taehyung whines. “Please?”

 

“No.”

 

_“But Jiminnie!”_

 

Hoseok chuckles from what feels like far away. “Jimin is the last person you should beg for food,” he teases and his head pops up over the back of the couch. His cheeks are the slightest shade of pink, his hair sticking up from where he pushed it back for an icepack to rest. His t-shirt is two sizes too big, sliding off his shoulder and exposing flushed skin underneath.  Jimin really wishes he didn’t notice all of this in the two seconds Hoseok appears before ducking behind the couch again.

 

Jin hums in agreement, but Jimin hardly hears it. Taehyung complains about ‘this society’ like a spoiled child and Jin chastises him for disturbing his hyungs. Unsurprisingly, Taehyung just whines more.

 

Jimin watches in silence as they banter back and forth. He doesn’t listen or give any particular attention to their conversation, too immersed in how fucking _gross_ he feels. He can smell the sweat more than he can feel it, no longer able to gauge just how soaked his clothing is. He knows it must be bad, if the layer of perspiration coating his forehead and arms and legs and everywhere in between is anything to go by. Practice had been more difficult than usual. He really pushed himself. He isn’t sure how Hoseok is holding up, because Hoseok works harder than any of them. The ice pack has to help, right?

 

It must, because Hoseok hasn’t appeared again to complain and that either means he’s dead or comfortable enough to wait it out on the other side of the couch alone. Jimin makes his way to the older boy. He’s sitting with his legs propped onto the couch, back on the floor. His t-shirt has ridden up to expose more sweat-slick skin. He’s on his phone and doesn’t trouble himself to look at Jimin as the younger boy mirrors him.

 

“Does the icepack help?” Jimin whispers. He’s unsure why he does. Something feels oddly intimate about their position. The rough carpet rubs the side of his face as he turns his head to glance at Hoseok.

 

Hoseok’s eyes slide to the side. “A little, I guess.”

 

“Aren’t you hot?”

 

Something akin to a smirk grows on Hoseok’s face and Jimin’s confusion only further waters Hoseok’s ego as he gives Jimin a pointed look. It takes a few seconds for Jimin to understand, and when he does, Hoseok is giggling like a school girl. Jimin slaps his arm.

 

“I didn’t mean like _that_.”

 

“I mean. You asked,” Hoseok throws his hands up in defense. Jimin pouts.

 

Taehyung mutters about ice-cream again on the other side of the room. Jin moves from his seat. Jimin doesn’t notice, though, because Hoseok has gone back to playing around on his phone and that means it’s safe for Jimin to blatantly stare at him.

 

Not like Jimin really cares if Hoseok catches him staring, but it salvages a bit of his pride. It’s no secret that Jimin finds his friend unfairly attractive. That attraction is mostly pegged as fueled by jealousy, rather than anything of a sexual nature, though. Jimin doubts Hoseok has any inkling of Jimin’s less than pure thoughts for his bandmate. In Jimin’s defense, though, he can’t help it that he’s a sexually frustrated guy that has no outlet besides his right hand and his imagination. The Hoseok of his fantasies finds it hot that Jimin thinks about him, but Jimin has no misgivings that the real Hoseok would be disgusted.

 

But Jimin’s just looking. Hoseok can’t get mad at him for that, right? Jimin likes looking at Hoseok.

 

_His chest hurts._

 

His chest hurts more the longer he looks at Hoseok so Jimin looks away again.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Yoongi appears later with a clean face and a towel wrapped around his head. As the second eldest, he’d already reserved showering rights before the others (Jin showers in the morning because apparently, that's something "educated" men do, according to Jeongguk). If Jeongguk doesn’t throw another tantrum over something stupid, Jimin’s in line for the shower after Hoseok and Namjoon.

 

Yoongi nudges Hoseok’s shoulder with his foot. “It’s your turn,” he mumbles. Hoseok doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Instead, he makes a show of locking his phone and sitting up. He turns to Jimin, still lying back on the floor, with a blank expression.

 

“Do you want to shower with me?” He asks, but it’s not a question. Jimin’s eyes dart to Yoongi still hovering over them. The older boy has a passive look on his face and he turns around with a small huff that doesn’t miss Jimin’s ears. Hoseok smiles weakly.

 

“Yeah, uh,” Jimin fumbles to get to his feet after Hoseok. “It’s uh... it’s alright? I can wait if you don’t want to?”

 

Hoseok shakes his head. “I want to.”

 

“Okay.”

 

So Jimin follows Hoseok to the bathroom. It’s still steamy inside from Yoongi’s shower. The mirror is fogged completely over save a small circle where Yoongi presumably wiped the surface with his hand. The scent of Yoongi’s body-wash is heavy in the air. It’s almost suffocating.

 

Hoseok turns the water on as Jimin closes the door. He feels his chest constrict uncomfortably as Hoseok starts stripping. It’s almost unfair, Jimin thinks, to be put in such a situation with a man who is so blissfully unaware of the effect he has on Jimin. A part of Jimin feels guilty that maybe he’s taking advantage of his friend’s innocence, but a smaller, uglier part of him doesn’t care. It’s that smaller fraction of Jimin that causes him to stay, but it’s Jimin’s guilt that forces him to only focus on pulling off his own t-shirt and shorts and not ogle Hoseok.

 

Jimin sighs. “We haven’t showered in a while,” he tries. Maybe if he distracts himself, he won’t feel his shame eating him alive.

 

That must’ve been the right thing to say because Hoseok grins widely. “I missed you, Jiminnie,” he singsongs as he prances over to Jimin. He rubs his cheek against Jimin’s bare shoulder. It’s a bit weird, but Jimin can’t complain; as pathetic as it is, he’ll take any physical contact with Hoseok he can get.

 

“I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” Jimin says ruefully. Hoseok snorts and pats Jimin’s chest briefly before spinning around on his heel and slipping into the shower. The water wets his hair instantly, streaming down his face and over his body as he soaks it all up like a sponge. Closing his eyes, Hoseok leans his head back with a moan of appreciation.

 

Jimin feels his jaw go slack. What on earth did he do in his past life to deserve this? Did he kill someone? He feels himself blush furiously as he watches his hyung. He almost doesn’t notice when Hoseok gives him a weird look when he catches Jimin staring. If his brain was working at full potential, maybe his guilt would’ve caused him to sink through the floor. Unfortunately, Jimin is too enraptured by the older boy and the way his arms flex as he pushes his wet hair off his forehead to care.

 

“Don’t just stand there,” Hoseok clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, ripping Jimin from his trance. He gulps, stepping out of his briefs to join Hoseok.

 

They shower with minimal disturbances. Hoseok _does_ drop the shampoo bottle and it squirts Jimin in the eye, but complications like that are of little importance when Hoseok is _wet_ and _naked_ right in front of you. Easy tasks like washing your face become extremely difficult. Even getting the loofah to quit slipping out of your hands is challenging. Jimin’s on the verge of a stress baby by the time he’s rinsing off.

 

Hoseok’s voice comes out smoothly as he peeks over his shoulder to meet Jimin’s gaze. He says something about hanging out but Jimin can’t hear over the water.

 

“What’d you say?” He cups his hand over his ear to hear clearly. Hoseok moves closer.

 

“ _I said_ I haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

Jimin furrows his eyebrows, confused. “I see you all the time?”

 

“Not like that, dumb-dumb,” Hoseok comes impossibly closer. “I mean I haven’t _seen_ you.”

 

Jimin hopes his smile masks the far more incriminating blush tinting his cheeks. He knows it’s sad and pathetic and stupid, but he can’t really help it.

 

“I miss you,” Jimin replies honestly. If the blush didn’t do it, then this definitely will. Jimin cringes. Just how stupid is he?

 

Hoseok is either stupid or ignores how weird Jimin is being. “Miss you more,” he challenges with a smirk and goes in for a hug. Jimin stops him halfway with a palm to his chest.

 

“Sorry, but we’re kind of  _naked right now_.”

 

Hoseok glances down. Jimin covers himself on instinct. His face is practically a stop sign.

 

“Oh. Yeah.”

 

They both laugh, Hoseok easily and unhindered, and Jimin in mortification. Thankfully, Hoseok decides then that it’s high time turn the faucet off, so Jimin has something to do other than wallow in his own embarrassment. They grab fluffy towels and wrap them around their bodies, dripping water all over the floor as they step out. Hoseok nearly slips and falls as he towels himself off. Jimin cackles as Hoseok catches himself on the sink.

 

“You laugh now, but who’s going to teach you how to be a real man once I’m gone?” Hoseok wheezes, out of breath, steadying himself. “Namjoon? Jin? They’re all softies. Gotta get advice from a _real_ man.”

 

“And since when are you a real man?” Jimin raises his eyebrows bravely.

 

Hoseok whips Jimin with his towel. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin.”

 

Jimin just salutes with a goofy, lopsided grin on his face as they leave the bathroom a mess for whoever has the misfortune of showering after them. That person is Namjoon, who just sighs and mops up the water with his towel, lamenting the days he was actually respected in this damn group.

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

The sound of rustling wakes Jimin up the next morning.

 

Well, it’s mostly the stupid sunbeam shining in his face, but it’s the rustling that makes him actually open his eyes rather than roll over and shove his face in his pillow. He can’t think of who it might be. Neither Yoongi nor Hoseok slept in their room last night. And if it’s not them, _who is it?_

 

Jimin sits up quickly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and blinking frantically. It takes a moment for his vision to clear. When it does, he notices a figure sitting on the floor.

 

“Who’s there?” He demands groggily. The figure, previously moving around in shaky motions, freezes.

 

No response. Jimin pulls the sheets aside and stumbles out of the bed. The person turns around in alarm. They’re wearing a black jacket with the hood pulled over their head so it takes Jimin some squinting to recognize the shielded face.

 

“Y- _Yoongi_?”

 

Strewn across the floor are the contents of Jimin’s suitcase. Socks, shirts, underwear, and whatever else is heaped in piles all over the place. Yoongi sits in the middle of it all. He doesn’t meet Jimin’s questioning gaze.

 

“What are you doing, hyung?” Jimin asks gently, crouching next to him. He goes to place a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder but Yoongi thwacks it away before it gets very far. He glares at the floor, sullen.

 

“Are you missing something? Did I accidentally take something of yours?” Jimin tries again to get a hold on the situation. Maybe not an upper hand, but at least a grip.

 

“It’s nothing,” Yoongi rolls his eyes as if Jimin asking him was incredibly stupid.

 

Jimin wants to laugh. Or maybe smack Yoongi, because it _is_ something. It’s _his_ clothing, _his_ belongings. He’d like to know why they’re spread everywhere. He rolls his eyes right back, just in spite.

 

“It isn't nothing,” he says in what he hopes is a semi-decent tone, gaze softening. Yoongi’s eyes shift between Jimin’s inquisitive stare and the open suitcase. He places his fidgeting hands in his lap.

 

“I was... just looking. For something.” Dismissive. Pensive. Jimin narrows his eyes.

 

“What were you looking for?”

 

A pause. Yoongi folds his hands and Jimin can see they’re shaking. He raises his eyebrows in apprehension.

 

“Hyung, are you okay? I’m here if you need anything, really. Please tell me wh—”

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Yoongi barks, trucking right over Jimin’s sentence. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

 

Jimin doesn’t know what to make of that. Of course, he knows exactly what Yoongi means, but that doesn’t make it any less brutal. Yoongi is worlds away from fine, yet he’s still alive, so Yoongi seems to count that as a win in his book. That’s no way to live.

 

“I was just looking for some stuff. It’s not a big deal,” Yoongi continues on like it’s nothing.

 

**_It’s a big deal to me._ **

 

Jimin’s voice is barely above a whisper when he begins speaking. “I took them out, hyung.” He looks blankly at his friend. Behind the deepening frown and the growing resentment, Jimin sees a boy that’s run out of options. He sees a boy that has no hope of ever changing. To Jimin’s distress, the boy doesn’t even appear to _want_ that change. And Jimin understands that more than Yoongi could possibly know. Yoongi is undermining his pain by hiding behind a false sense of security. Because if he convinces himself that it’s normal, it will be. If he continues as he is, he never has to acknowledge that what he’s doing is wrong.

 

Yoongi clenches his jaw. “Then I guess I’ll have to find new ones,” he says through his teeth. Jimin doesn’t want to mentally picture Yoongi hunting for replacement razor blades, but he does anyway. As far as Jimin knows, Namjoon’s confiscated anything Yoongi might use as contraband, but Jimin doesn’t question Yoongi’s resourcefulness.

 

“Hyung, it’s for the best,” Jimin tries pathetically. Oh, how hollow the words feel leaving his mouth.

 

Yoongi’s unwavering expression shows he wasn’t expecting anything else. Quietly, he puts himself back together. “In case you forgot, people also use razors to shave, you know.” He doesn’t wait for Jimin to explain himself or interrogate him further. He lifts himself off the floor, leaving the room a mess. Jimin watches in bewilderment.

 

Jimin hates to admit it, but it isn’t his place to speak on the subject. It probably never will be. This is Yoongi’s battle. This is Yoongi’s life they’re playing with. Jimin is not a professional and won’t gloss over the fact that Yoongi needs help. But, again, it’s not Jimin’s place to demand anything of Yoongi. It’s only once Yoongi decides to change that he’ll ever dream of getting better.

 

Maybe Jimin should take his own advice. 

 

 

 ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Jimin knows something must be wrong the moment he can’t find Hoseok. He looks everywhere: the training room, Namjoon’s studio, even _Yoongi’s_ studio. But it’s all to no avail. He asks around, but no one’s seen the older boy since their interview earlier that afternoon. It sets Jimin’s heart racing. The poor little thing can’t take much. Jimin’s at his wit’s end.

 

It isn’t particularly comforting when Jimin finds Hoseok still sitting in the van where everyone apparently left him after returning from the interview. He’s just sitting there, gazing out the window with an unreadable expression masking his face. Jimin feels like smashing through the window and smacking him all of a sudden.

 

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

 

Hoseok turns to look at Jimin. His eyes are vacant and the smile looks nothing short of pathetic. He looks out the window again without an explanation. Jimin opts to climb into the back of the van where Hoseok’s sitting stiffly.

 

“Hyung,” Jimin urges, trying not to hound him too much. He can tell Hoseok’s been in a bad mood all day. But he needs to talk to him. He needs to fix this.

 

Hoseok only acknowledges Jimin’s efforts when the younger grabs at his sweater. He twists towards him and sighs. “I’m not in the mood, Jimin,” he says.

 

 _Jimin’s chest hurts_. “Oh.” He sits back in his seat, removing all contact from Hoseok.

 

“It’s not you,” Hoseok tries to amend, but Jimin already knows that. He hasn’t done anything and that’s exactly why everyone’s being like this. It’s disgusting.

 

“Yoongi-hyung... I think he needs you,” Jimin says. “I’m not trying to be nosy, hyung. I’m genuinely worried about him. I want to... I want to help, but I don’t know how.”

 

Jimin watches Hoseok close his eyes briefly, perhaps to still his temper. He rests his chin against his hand and his arm against the window ledge. There seems to be an infinite amount of space between them and this action only succeeds in widening it further. Jimin wants to reach out, pull them closer together. But Hoseok’s mad, so Jimin will wait.

 

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here in just a t-shirt,” Hoseok verbalizes after a while. His voice materializes in the air as a little cloud.

 

“You’re going to get sick, too,” Jimin points out. “Come inside, hyung.”

 

Hoseok doesn’t say anything.

 

“Please.”

 

Silence.

 

“Hyung, I know you’re mad but please just co—”

 

“Would you just _shut up!?_ ”

 

The interruption comes like a smack to the face. Jimin sits in stunned silence at Hoseok’s outburst. He’s never been yelled at by Hoseok. Hoseok’s never so much as raised his voice at Jimin. He’s only been sunshine and warm hugs. Jimin swallows, but the saliva trickles down his throat uncomfortably.

 

“Okay,” Jimin whispers. He climbs back out of the van with no protests from Hoseok; he’s gone back to staring moodily out the car window as if the glass is the most interesting thing in the world. Jimin kind of wants it to open up and swallow Hoseok whole.

 

Jimin quickly erases that thought. Jimin’s the nice one. He needs to be better. He needs to be level-headed for both of their sakes. Hoseok’s just sad. There’s nothing wrong with Jimin. Everything’s fine.

 

Except it’s not, because when Jimin slides under the covers of his bed with the intention of falling asleep and never waking up again, he instead finds Yoongi. But unlike last time, Yoongi isn't mentally deranged and he's been waiting for Jimin.

 

“Where were you?” Yoongi asks into the abyss of darkness, mostly, probably directed at Jimin. Jimin suppresses a sigh.

 

“Outside.”

 

“In only that? You’ll get sick.”

 

**_I know._ **

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Yoongi apologizes, but it doesn’t sound sincere in the least. Jimin wants to throw up.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

It’s not, but whatever.

 

Fuck crushes.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: References to self-harm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have almost completely rewritten and changed most of this chapter. While some parts remain the same, the meaning is different due to the changes made. I did this because this chapter, in particular, is where the discrepancies between POV's was starting. For the sake of continuity and clarity and our emotional states (lol), I have changed a lot of Yoongi's behavior. Looking back, I wrote him to be EXTREMELY mean and not at all what I was going for. Yeah, I know. Not sure how that happened. Anyways, I encourage those of you who read the original version to come to me if you have any questions at all! I will be happy to answer any you might have.  
> Also, this chapter is currently the longest somehow??? lmao

 

“Is he okay?”

 

“Yeah, why’s he just sitting there?”

 

“ _Shhh!_ He can hear you.”

 

“Doubt it. Look at him pathetically staring out the window. He probably isn’t even aware we’re standing here.”

 

Hoseok’s aware. He’s been aware of their aggravating presences looming in the background of his subconscious since they stumbled into the kitchen. But he has chosen to ignore them in favor of immersing himself in his own thoughts. It’s getting increasingly difficult to do so with their babbling and inconveniently timed side comments, though. Seriously, they’ve been standing there for almost half an hour; how are they not bored?

 

“He hasn’t moved. Is he even breathing?”

 

_Unfortunately._

 

“Jimin, what’d you do?”

 

“Why does everyone always blame me?!”

 

Hoseok lets a sigh wedge its way in the middle of Taehyung’s response. It shuts down whatever accusations he could’ve tacked onto Jimin. Hoseok hopes it might permanently keep them quiet. Maybe they’ll leave to go bother Seokjin or something. He really hopes, _prays_ , that they’ll evaporate into the air and leave him to sit on this stool and stare at his soggy noodles in some goddamn peace.

 

But his hopes and aspirations are squashed like his mushy ramen. His sigh only amplifies their curiosity. It isn’t all that hard to believe why. Hoseok’s been sitting at the kitchen table alternating between staring at his bowl of noodles and out the window for what feels like an eternity. Has it been three hours? Three days? Hoseok’s left leg fell asleep a while ago and he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to get up from his seat without support.

 

“One of us should do something.”

 

Jeongguk. When did he show up?

 

“He’s mad,” Hoseok hears Jimin whisper. This is the most Jimin’s talked in days. Everything’s been eerily quiet since—well, since the beginning, Hoseok supposes. Since the start of this downward spire. Since everything went to hell and back. Since everyone decided they aren’t close enough to comfort each other.

 

Yoongi.

 

Hoseok flings his chopstick at the wall. It ricochets off the pale surface with a horrible clang and succeeds in both startling and terrifying the three boys standing in the doorway. The utensil flies towards them with enough force to injure Taehyung, apparently. Hoseok doesn’t bother watching, but if the pathetic noise the boy makes is anything to go by, Taehyung didn’t succeed in dodging it.

 

“Dude, what the hell?!” Jeongguk shouts with enough volume to actually make Hoseok jump a little. He’s angry, and rightly so. He’s angry, but he doesn’t step nearer or block the airway between Hoseok’s other chopstick and Taehyung.

 

“Leave if you don’t want to get hit,” Hoseok says quietly. There isn’t any malice to his words. There’s a sick kind of irony in it, he thinks. It’s all too funny.

 

The boys end up leaving after sprinkling a handful of reprimands and rude remarks in their wake. Then it’s just Hoseok in the kitchen. He knows his food is cold by now and that the scenery outside the window is dull and nothing to spend an hour looking at. He knows, too, that he’s waiting around for nothing. What’s he doing? He’s alone now. He should be glad. That’s what he wanted, right? To be alone?

 

Hoseok falls asleep leaning against the window. Someone comes and covers him with a blanket sometime during the night. There’s no trace of who it was in the morning, but both stainless steel chopsticks are lying on the table when he wakes up.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Hoseok dances around the realization for a while. He tells himself that he’s too busy to be fussing over anything unnecessary. He barely has the time to eat, let alone stress about the thoughts floating around his head. It must be hollow up there, he thinks. Otherwise, he would’ve been able to cram these incessant what if’s into a small box and shove it into a dark corner of his mind, never to be touched upon again. It’s what Hoseok always does. He doesn’t lay his thoughts bare to look them over. He doesn’t roll them around his mouth to taste. Hoseok simply lets them wither away in his denial. It’s what Hoseok always does. It’s all Hoseok knows.

 

He convinces everyone else that he’s just tired. It isn’t much of a stretch: his dark circles speak of his sleepless nights and his body pays for it. He doesn’t want to worry them any more than they already are. So, for their sake, Hoseok tries his best to smile through it. It wouldn’t do to cause a hubbub over something so ridiculous. Thankfully, after about a week of convincing them all that he’s still the same Hoseok they’ve always known—minus his abundant energy—he is left alone.

 

Hoseok doesn’t want to consider why that makes him more upset.

 

He’ll be fine, though. As Taehyung once put it, Hoseok is incapable of being in a foul mood for longer than ‘thirty seconds at a time.’ The real question lies in whether Taehyung meant that literally or not. It’s hard to tell with the kid.

 

Hoseok sighs, leaning his head back against the cool surface of the tub. The dorm is empty for once and it brings with it a silence that is both welcomed and despised. On one hand, it’s a rare occasion that he’s cherishing with every weary bone in his body. On the other hand, Hoseok itches with inactivity. He’s only been in the bath for around ten minutes at best, but already he’s expecting to be interrupted. Usually, his dongsaengs would be bursting through the door to demand their turn already. Usually, Hoseok would be griping about privacy and the damn lack of it in their group.

 

But here he is, sat alone in the bath, unable to enjoy the very privacy he craves.

 

“This must be what it’s like to be insane,” he grumbles to himself. And really, maybe he’s finally gone off the deep-end.

 

Hoseok basks in the frigid water. It was a good idea to draw an ice bath; Hoseok isn’t sure how he’d have endured the heat on his own. With the tiny AC unit in the living room window currently broken, the air within the dorm is a sticky, humid hotness that clings to his clothes and his lungs like an invisible hand. It’s the third time this year the damn thing has broken, and it’s barely July. Namjoon is just finally suspecting a pattern here. All the others can do is suffer in the insufferable inferno as Namjoon draws his own conclusions as to _why_ the unit keeps demanding fixes.

 

Well, at least that’s what _Hoseok_ thought they were doing. But it seems that everyone failed to bring it to his attention that sleeping in the practice room has become a group field trip. The temperature in there is cool enough to keep ice-cream frozen but, as per usual, no one bothers inviting Hoseok to their little sleep-over. It’s real fucking annoying.

 

Hoseok knows very well that he could just march over there and sleep anywhere he damn well pleases without a squawk of protest. Hell, he could probably do so without anyone noticing. But it’s Hoseok’s pride that would pay the price. Instead of doing the logical thing, Hoseok opted to defiantly state he’d spend some well-needed alone time in the dorm. And while it’s true that Hoseok values privacy above most else, he doesn’t particularly enjoy doing so in ninety-degree heat waves.

 

And, as if the universe really is out to get him, Hoseok can’t even revel in the strangeness of it all. Not the silence. Not the privacy. Not even this ice bath that feels heavenly against his burning skin. He keeps watching the door in an expectant tizzy. He keeps waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to fall. He keeps waiting, but nothing comes.

 

Perhaps it is for these reasons that Hoseok jumps out of all three layers of skin when the door is slammed open. Hoseok had spent so much time imagining it popping open and someone poking their head around to smile at him, that when it actually _does_ open, he lets out a whimper. It’s an involuntary reaction, but he still bristles at the less than manly sound of it.

 

Hoseok is ready to tell off whoever so dared come back to the dorms after he so patiently and explicitly explained that he’d rather stab himself in the eye than be in anyone’s presence. Any rebuke dies on his lips, though, as Hoseok takes in Yoongi’s form. Wrapped in a baggy hoodie and sleep deprivation, he doesn’t take notice of Hoseok immediately. Or he doesn’t acknowledge him, at least. He makes a beeline for the toilet, quickly unfastening his belt to let his jeans pool around his feet and emptying his bladder without a thought to the boy watching from the tub behind him.

 

Hoseok shrinks. He’s been in compromising positions before, yet none have been this utterly uncomfortable. He tries to sink down further in the water in the hopes Yoongi doesn’t see him. It’s a far stretch, even for him. As he does so, he accidentally brushes against the shower curtain, causing the metal rings holding it up to clank loudly. Hoseok submerges his head.

 

In his panic, Hoseok hadn’t thought that maybe that was a stupid idea.

 

Once Hoseok breaks the surface for air, he finds a pair of dark eyes observing him intently. From across the bathroom, Hoseok can feel them on him as if a physical touch. And Yoongi’s staring at him as if Hoseok’s just done some kind of spectacularly amazing feat. It stirs something low and unwelcome in Hoseok’s gut.

 

“I didn’t know you were in here,” Yoongi says. It’s carefully neutral, like he expects Hoseok to reach out and slap him. It would be wise for him to continue with caution, is all Hoseok thinks on the matter.

 

“I didn’t know you were here, either,” Hoseok returns, just as dispassionately.

 

“I was getting some things,” Yoongi shrugs. As if just now realizing he’s standing there with his dick still out, he quickly pulls his pants back up and pulls the belt tightly around his hips. He appears to have lost some weight. His pants no longer fit his slender legs like they did when he first got them. Yoongi’s practically swimming in them.

 

Hoseok doesn’t offer any other pleasantries while Yoongi proceeds to flush the toilet and wash his hands. When he’s dried his hands on the back of his pants, Yoongi turns to Hoseok again.

 

“You can cut the act,” Yoongi says flatly. His tone is bored, but his eyes are ablaze. “I can see right through it, anyway. You made a fuss about staying here to avoid me entirely. I get it: you’re mad. But why punish yourself? It’s hot as balls in here. It’s actually a little pathetic.”

 

Hoseok makes a show of inspecting his nails. “Ah, yes. I asked to stay here to personally spite you, Yoongi. I’m so glad you’ve figured me out. At this rate, you might be able to know my thoughts before even I do!”

 

“Drop the sarcasm,” Yoongi retorts.

 

“Sarcasm? What sarcasm? I am being one hundred percent serious here.”

 

_“Hoseok.”_

 

“What do you expect me to say?” Hoseok snaps. He drinks in the startled blink from Yoongi hungrily. “Not _everything_ is about _you_. Maybe I just wanted some alone time? I don’t exist simply for your benefit.” A bit selfishly, Hoseok adds, _“Unlike some of us seem to believe,”_ under his breath.

 

“You don’t exist for anyone,” Yoongi denies without missing a beat. Hoseok could roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head. It might actually be a nice idea; at the very least, he wouldn’t have to look at Yoongi anymore.

 

“This is just rich,” Hoseok comments dryly. “You talk about my act, but you’re standing there as if you don’t want to punch me in the dick. Who’s the liar now?”

 

“I’m not lying.” If it is at all possible, Yoongi sounds sincere as his quiet voice bounces off the walls and echoes inside Hoseok’s head. Ah, maybe there’s more up there than Hoseok originally gauged.

 

“That’s something liars always say. And clones. But that’s beside the point.”

 

Yoongi’s lips quirk upwards nearly imperceptibly, but he does not speak for several long moments. Slowly, the half-smile tightens around the edges, as if straining against a pain lingering there. It’s a rather pathetic expression for Yoongi to wear. It’s especially odd for it to be directed at _Hoseok_. Where the hell did a look like that come from?

 

“Then there’s nothing I can do to prove myself,” Yoongi finally murmurs. He leaves the bathroom quietly and shuts the door behind him. No more images of Hoseok’s friends appear before his eyes. Now, it’s just the plain old door, and Hoseok sees it for how ugly it really is. It’s in dire need of a paint job. The rowdy boys have abused it in all sorts of ways; if Hoseok squints, he can make out the dark mark near the handle from where Jeongguk accidentally melted the wood with the hairdryer last winter.

 

Hoseok sits for a while afterward, listening to Yoongi pad to his room and flop onto his bed. Hoseok’s thoughts seem even louder in the eerily quiet bathroom. Occasionally, the faucet will drip and remind Hoseok that the water has warmed and he’s getting pruney. He’s as clean as he’ll ever hope to possibly be.

 

Eventually, Hoseok towels himself off and puts on a fresh pair of pajamas. He takes no comfort in the ritual.

 

Hoseok has no choice but to go to his room. He can only hope that Yoongi had the sense to leave before things get ugly. Hoseok doesn’t have the energy for a fight, no matter how angry and upset he may be. His muscles strain under his skin, his head split in two with a raging headache, and he wobbles on his feet a bit. All he can dwell on is the fact that he’s going to be sleeping in a bed for the first time in... well, a long time. Hoseok isn’t quite sure how much time has passed.  

 

Hoseok finds Yoongi seated on his bed. No, not Yoongi’s bed, but _Hoseok’s_. Hoseok narrows his eyes cautiously as he takes in the sight. Yoongi’s taken to staring right back unabashedly. His gaze drags up and down Hoseok’s body and it sends a jolt through him. Suddenly, the room feels impossibly small and his pajamas feel inadequate to hide within. Yoongi’s scrutiny causes heat to bloom on his cheeks.

 

“You aren’t sleeping in here anymore,” Yoongi states. It’s rather obvious. Everyone in the dorm is aware of it.

 

“Someone recently led me to believe I wasn’t wanted around any longer,” Hoseok chirps with false cheeriness.

 

Yoongi plays along with a fake smile to match. “That’s not very nice.”

 

“Indeed.” Hoseok moves to stand as far from Yoongi as possible.

 

“Why would you put up with that? I can’t possibly imagine why.”

 

“Likewise. You’d think that after being so brutally shut-out, I would... I wouldn’t still—” Hoseok is shut down by Yoongi rising from the bed. He gives Hoseok a once-over with eyes void of all warmth. It’s careful, calculating, as if he’s looking through a microscope and Hoseok’s the victim, a mere germ that Yoongi’s trying to stomp out. Then gravity pulls Yoongi’s face downward in a scowl and he’s taking a step forward. Then another. And another. And then he’s in Hoseok’s face and there’s perspiration dripping from the boy’s forehead. If Yoongi sees it, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he stares. And stares. And stares until Hoseok shrinks so far away that his heart and the heels of his feet hit the closet door behind him. Yoongi is still.

 

“You’re a traitor,” he says quietly. It is not hostile. It sounds defeated, as if Yoongi’s a prisoner that’s... given up. Maybe he has, Hoseok thinks. Maybe Hoseok’s in the wrong here and they’re both tired of the constant fighting. Guilt is heavy behind Hoseok’s eyes and it pricks at his lashes, threatening to spill over.

 

Yoongi disappears sometime after that, but Hoseok honestly doesn’t take any notice or keep any recollection of whatever follows. He knows he doesn’t stay in the room all night. It’s likely he sought out refuge someplace else, though that idea scares him. Who could he have gone to in that state?

 

Either way, Hoseok wakes up in Namjoon’s studio an indeterminate wedge of time later. He’s lying on something hard and he’s vaguely aware of a throbbing headache punctuating the beat of a song playing softly in the background. He opens an eye groggily and his fuzzy vision is met with the wall. He’s on his side, lying on someone’s bag.

 

Namjoon’s not at his desk. Hoseok distantly recognizes the song playing from Namjoon’s stereo. It’s one of the songs off Jimin’s sleep playlist, playing at a very low frequency. Hoseok finds a note scribbled onto a napkin in orange sharpie lying on Namjoon’s desk.

 

 

_Sleep here, Hobi-hyung. We need to talk in the morning._

_-Joon_

 

 

Hoseok sighs. Oh boy.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

True to his word, Namjoon sojourns Hoseok on his way to the bathroom around eight the next morning. He offers no clues or explanations as he follows Hoseok into the bathroom and shuts and locks the door behind them.

 

“I feel like I’m going to see the principle or something,” Hoseok laughs in an attempt to lighten the mood. It is decidedly not natural sounding.

 

Namjoon doesn’t return it. “You guys are going to kill me, I swear,” he sighs and slumps onto the closed toilet seat. He looks so drained, so spread thin that he’s bound to tear clean in two at this rate.

 

“You sound like an old man, Joonie,” Hoseok teases with a signature Hobi-hyung smile. It doesn’t exactly serve its purpose: Namjoon runs a hand down his face and all Hoseok can do is watch his friend unwind his frustrations by wringing his hands.

 

“What’s going on?” Namjoon says a bit later. It’s reserved, personal. Hoseok almost doesn’t recognize the expression on his friend’s face. It’s that leader face again. The face he rarely brings out unless one of them has seriously fucked up.

 

“What is this, the daily double round on Jeopardy?” Hoseok’s voice strains to keep up with his jarring tone and the mush of feelings inside his body. It’s a sickening contrast.

 

Namjoon contains himself by pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t a joke.”

 

Hoseok just shrugs. “I’m not good with trick questions.”

 

“This isn’t a trick. I want to know what’s going on. Why is everyone acting out? What happened?” Namjoon unrolls some toilet paper to fold in his hands and wipe at his nose. It’s a lot cooler in the bathroom now than it was last night. They probably fixed the AC unit.

 

Hoseok leans against the sink. He can feel the ice cold ceramic through his shorts. He shrugs again, the fabric of his shirt moving with the action. “I think they need a break,” he replies simply. It’s kind of true. They’ve all been worked to death. But that’s how it is being an idol—they’re not human anymore, just objects of the industry. They’re living their dreams, sure, but at what cost? They get to live in the eye of the public where they can’t even be themselves. They get to live for a crowd that only allows a molded, perfected model sufficient air to breathe. They’ve lost all traces of themselves. What’s left?

 

A shell, Hoseok supposes, but he hates fake deep shit like that.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

They aren’t allowed a break for two weeks. When it comes, Hoseok is at the end of all semblance of patience. He’s all strung out, being pulled in every direction and unraveling around the most important parts. His vitals are leaking everywhere, for anyone to see.

 

He hates it. He hates it so much he changes. Hoseok’s backed into a corner. He has nowhere to run or hide, so he does what he does best: he paints on another layer and continues on. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t acknowledge the guilt eating away at his insides. He won’t be humiliated. He _won’t_ apologize. _Mood maker_. He’s supposed to make people happier. _Living sunshine_. He’s supposed to be happy. Be happy, Hoseok. Be happy and people will like you, Hoseok. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Be hap –

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

They’re watching a movie. Hoseok has no idea what the movie is or what the blurry images he’s looking at are supposed to be. He’s sandwiched between two slices of bad news, and not of his own volition. Namjoon’s idea of a “helpful” break was putting on some Japanese film and sitting Hoseok at the epicenter of all his problems.

 

Well, most of them, at least.

 

So far, Jimin’s said a total of nine words, none of which were directed at either Yoongi or Hoseok. Yoongi, on the other hand, has been sullen the entire ninety-some minutes Hoseok’s been planted to the practice room couch. It’s good so far. Hoseok’s only wished for a meteor to smash through the building approximately four times. A record? Something to be thankful for? Hoseok doesn’t know.

 

Someone onscreen screams and Hoseok’s attention levels out, landing on the back of Taehyung’s head. He’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, eating popcorn out of a bowl Jeongguk’s boycotted. The hair under Hoseok’s absentminded gaze quivers every time Taehyung moves his head. It even flops a little as he jumps at a pixelated zombie eating arguably more pixelated guts from a woman’s stomach. Jeongguk, a jumbled mess of limbs and popcorn kernels, grunts as either comfort or reprimand. He uses the arm slung around Taehyung’s shoulder to rub soothing circles into his skin.

 

_Be happy, Hoseok._

 

Namjoon, sitting on a mat somewhere to their right, laughs loudly. Jin promptly follows, slapping his hand against his knee. The maknae line giggles profusely with the eldest. Hoseok feels a little bad about missing the joke, but his attention is everywhere but onscreen.

 

Hoseok’s on the brink of floating away. Far, far away. Too far away to catch with an outstretched hand or the kindest smile. He’s going to fly up into the azure skyline until he crawls out of the atmosphere to be lost forever. He doesn’t feel quite real anymore.

 

He shifts his eyes to his left.

 

Yoongi. His fingers are tapping the armrest of the couch without purpose or rhythm. They rap no pattern, seemingly random pushes at a phantom keyboard. Hoseok watches Yoongi’s fingers strumming the plush material. He seems to be impatient, possibly uncomfortable. His foot’s tapping too, now that Hoseok’s looking. His socked foot makes a soft thud on the glossy floor. All of it is otherwise unrecognizable unless searched for. Hoseok knows better. He holds his breath as Yoongi’s knee bounces with his foot, his entire body seeming to vibrate. It’s a tick of his.

 

A nervous tick.

 

Something rises. It was bound to happen after the continuous rain. It rises, rising, rose. Is it half full now? Half empty? It doesn’t stop there: it keeps pushing, keeps filling up, up, up. It accumulates and accumulates until it’s all hot air in Hoseok’s head and a thick, black substance seeping through his skin. He has to get away. 

 

“I’m going to go sleep,” he announces. He isn’t sure why he does so. It’s not like anyone’s going to give him the time of day. Still, Hoseok lets his sentence fall on top of the heavy silence hanging in the room. Only Jimin and Namjoon spare him a glance.

 

“In our room?” Jimin whispers, reaching up to catch Hoseok’s shirt sleeve. The tiniest glimmer of hope is peeking through the fabric of his existence. It’s like a lighthouse overlooking a lonely, empty sea, calling its ships back to harbor. All of Hoseok’s excuses are swallowed immediately.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “In our room.”

 

Jimin smiles just the tiniest bit. He shyly lets go of Hoseok’s shirt and folds his small hands in his lap. Hoseok ignores Yoongi glaring into space along the edge of his peripheral in favor of offering the smallest, most pathetic smile in return. Jimin beams.

 

“I’ll be there soon, hyung,” Jimin squeaks timidly. “I want to finish this movie first.” Hoseok only nods.

 

And then Hoseok is exiled from the room for being “too loud”, according to Taehyung. Hoseok doesn’t understand why it even matters because the whole movie is in Japanese and they’re reading yellow subtitles on the bottom of the screen, but apparently it ruins the mood. So he leaves. Hoseok decides to take a shower. He takes his time, pampering himself a little. It really doesn’t make his insides feel any better, though. Hoseok sits on his bed and stares at the one across the room.

 

_Be happy, Hoseok._

 

Hoseok lies among the pillows and blankets covering his bed. He hasn’t been sleeping in his room. It’s been ages of drifting, sleeping in showers or Namjoon’s studio. At one point he’d even slept under the table in the kitchen. It isn’t even embarrassing. It should be, but it isn’t. No one’s breached the subject, and Hoseok is thankful. They’re all somewhat wary after all the little incidents that have spiced up the past month. They’re all a little worried, too, Hoseok can tell. But no one’s asked him about it. No one fucking asks him anything.

 

Hoseok’s tired.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

The lights are off. Someone’s stumbling, groping around the room with nothing but the strip of light from under the closed door to guide them through the mess of clothes and whatever the fuck is lying on the floor. The room is much too dark. There’s heavy breathing.

 

“Jimin?” Hoseok calls quietly to the shadowy figure. He hadn’t been sleeping, not really.

 

“It’s not your precious Jiminie, sorry.”

 

Yoongi. His voice is low. It sounds gravelly, almost a growl. It reminds Hoseok of a chair being scraped across a worn floor.

 

Oh.

 

The shuffling continues. It continues until the bed dips at the end, gravity pulling Hoseok’s legs towards Yoongi. He jerks away at the movement.

 

“What do you want?” Hoseok challenges weakly. He’s so, so tired, and not in the right mind to put up with Yoongi’s antics.

 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he crawls over Hoseok’s body until he’s right next to him. It’s dark. Hoseok can’t see anything but a general outline of Yoongi’s body. So Hoseok isn’t prepared for Yoongi’s hand and the force with which he hits Hoseok over the head. He lies stunned, the wind knocked out of him completely. He gasps in protest, but Yoongi ignores him in favor of grabbing a handful of his hair.

 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Yoongi grits through his teeth. “Why the fuck are you being rude to the kids? I heard from Taehyung that you threw a fucking _chopstick_ at him. What the fuck? Have you finally lost your mind?”

 

Yoongi doesn’t bother lowering his voice. Hoseok doesn’t bother looking at him. This only further infuriates Yoongi.

 

“Stop just lying there, dumbass,” Yoongi delivers a particularly resounding slap to Hoseok’s cheek. It leaves his face hot, stinging. Yoongi shakes him like a rag doll, choked with emotion. “ _Answer me._ ”

 

“There’s nothing to say!” Hoseok gives up and hurls a punch to Yoongi’s jawline. The knock leaves Yoongi reeling, tumbling backward off the side of the bed.

 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Yoongi counters, on his feet almost immediately. And then he’s on top of Hoseok and there are limbs everywhere. Yoongi moves to strangle the other boy. Hoseok bites Yoongi’s arm so hard he tastes blood. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, somehow. He latches onto Hoseok like some kind of leech, like he’s going to force the words right out of Hoseok’s mouth.

 

Neither makes any progress in the hustle. They thrash around, their breaths ragged and their tired bodies protesting. They’re like a dysfunctional set of gears, Hoseok thinks: their soft skin and pointy elbows and harsh words are keeping them from properly turning together, from properly keeping in time, in _sync_ , and yet they can’t seem to figure out why that is. It’s weirdly symbolic.

 

At one point, Yoongi pins Hoseok down with hands to his shoulders and straddles him, either to make his throat more accessible to choke him or for other purposes Hoseok can’t breathe enough to think of. Yoongi’s everywhere: in his face, under his skin, scratching at his skin with sharp nails and a searing gaze. There are bruises forming on both of their bodies, blooming beneath their skin like flower blossoms. Yoongi’s too warm and too heavy as he traps Hoseok in his place. Hoseok can’t do anything. He can’t get a firm enough grip on Yoongi to push him off. He can’t find an opening to retaliate. He can’t do anything but lie there with Yoongi’s hands on him.

 

So Hoseok does the next best thing.

 

Yoongi yelps in surprise as Hoseok’s teeth sink deep into the flesh of his neck. Yoongi had been naïve to think that Hoseok wouldn’t take advantage of this opportunity. He’d gotten too close to Hoseok’s mouth all by himself. Hoseok could almost chuckle.

 

Yoongi throws blind fists at Hoseok’s chest, but Hoseok doesn’t let up. He clamps his teeth closed firmly. Yoongi momentarily hesitates, floundering like a fish out of water. Hoseok takes this opportunity to turn the tables and flip them over, gaining the upper hand. He pins Yoongi’s hands above his head, his teeth never letting go of the smooth skin. He tastes a new place, his fingernails digging into Yoongi’s wrists with such pressure that he’s sure it’s going to leave marks. There’s going to be so many marks all over Yoongi. Hoseok’s near ravenous as he sucks and scrapes his teeth along the column of Yoongi’s neck.

 

“S-stop,” Yoongi rasps, whimpering involuntarily as Hoseok’s tongue slides across the tender skin just below his ear. He chokes on his words as Hoseok, knees framing the older boy’s narrow hips, shoves Yoongi’s legs open with one hand. “Hoseok no, I—”

 

Hoseok quickly shuts him up with his mouth. The reaction isn’t immediate; there are a few agonizing seconds of Hoseok’s mouth working fervently, pulling at Yoongi’s lips in vain. Then, finally, the other boy moves. And when he does? It’s _electric_. Yoongi’s mouth is wet and hot and every other adjective on earth. Hoseok parts Yoongi’s lips with his tongue, sucking on his bottom lip. Yoongi weakly tries to move away, but Hoseok’s there in his space and he’s consuming him whole, swallowing him up. Yoongi groans.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Yoongi grunts as Hoseok breaks away to catch his breath. His hand is rubbing somewhere on Yoongi’s left thigh and Yoongi squirms at the feeling.

 

“Glad we agree,” Hoseok smiles a little, no humor in it. Yoongi narrows his eyes.

 

“We aren’t supposed to,” he says and it’s soaked in suspicion. 

 

Hoseok pokes Yoongi’s cheek sweetly. He feels numb. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes and really, it’s sincere  

 

But it’s soft. Way too soft. Yoongi’s eyes grow three sizes as he stares through the layer of darkness around them, taken aback. Clearly, Hoseok doesn’t know when to let up.

 

“What the fuck?” Yoongi mutters to himself. Hoseok pokes the other cheek. Yoongi thinks he sees tears on the other’s face, but he can’t tell. It’s too dark. Nothing matters in the dark.

 

And then Hoseok is rolling off of Yoongi. He’s tired. He just needs sleep. It’s okay.

 

_Be happy, Hoseok._

 

He moves to stand up, but Yoongi’s hand juts forward again. Hoseok ducks, blocking the hit by doubling over and securing his arms around his head.

 

The hit never comes. It’s only Yoongi’s fingertips. They brush up his back and land to rest on his shoulder. The room is quiet.

 

“I forgive you,” Yoongi says eventually. All traces of suspicion, anger, or resentment are gone. The only thing left is hurt. And acceptance.

  

“Do you mean that?” It’s insecure and feeble sounding, a complete contrast to just five minutes earlier. Hoseok can hear Yoongi hum.

 

“I still hate you, though,” Yoongi tacks on.

 

Hoseok laughs. _“Likewise.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

For Yoongi, Hoseok is the nicest thing to wake up to.

 

It’s the type of thing people in four or five-year-long relationships admit during candlelit dinners. It’s a soft sentiment. It makes Yoongi feel shameful in a way he can’t pinpoint. He and Hoseok are anything _but_ that: they are not lovers, they are not enemies. They’re stuck somewhere in-between, walking a dangerous line that’s going to hurt him either way. Yoongi finds it flickers between hostility and grace like a candle’s flame. Some days they’re so strung up they can’t look at each other. Others, it’s all they can do to keep their hands to themselves.

 

Every morning is the same, though. Waking up on the safe side of Hoseok’s arms, bodies warm and relaxed, it’s impossible to deny it: he’s grateful for Hoseok, even if he wants to sever his head and serve it for lunch sometimes.  Yoongi doesn’t even _cuddle_ people, for Christ’s sake. That’s a no-no. A big fat red flag. Yoongi doesn’t do stuff like that with anyone.

 

Except... Hoseok. This should honestly worry Yoongi. What does it mean that he’s so willing to overlook Hoseok’s ignorance and insensitivity simply because he is too afraid of losing him? That isn’t healthy. Actually, that’s probably closer to the legit definition of unhealthy. Or something. Yoongi hasn’t been the greatest at relationships in the past, romantic or otherwise. At least it’s refreshing to know that hasn’t changed.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Yoongi’s asked on a cloudy Tuesday. He’s asked by Hoseok, who wedges the question between two conversations going on in the kitchen. Yoongi’s not really paying attention, too busy with juggling his own thoughts and Hoseok piggybacking with comments of his own, but Hoseok’s eyes tell him it’s pretty damn important. Important enough to remain uncharacteristically quiet during their meal, at that.

 

“What are we?”

 

It’s just a whisper, sent to his ear over the commotion of dinner. Yoongi is hands-deep in dishwater. He looks at Hoseok and shrugs because he honestly doesn’t know.

 

Hoseok doesn’t seem to like the display.

 

Their arrangement is odd, to say the least. What _are_ they? How would Yoongi know? They kiss and they fight and they do everything couples do, but they’re clearly not together. Neither one of them has the patience to put up with the other for longer than a couple of hours at most. It’s just the way it’s always been. Yoongi doesn’t think to put a name to it will change their dynamic in some big way, nor will it keep them in this state of unknowing-ness that Hoseok seems to hate so much. It makes no difference if Yoongi wants to kiss Hoseok until he can’t breathe. Sneaking kisses in the middle of practices and the space between Hoseok’s shoulder blades is dangerous.

 

Yoongi does it anyway. Hoseok’s question is never answered and they continue on like it was never spoken.

 

Hoseok doesn’t ask again. A few times, Yoongi catches him with a frown and wonders to himself if he’s the reason it’s there. Sometimes Yoongi takes it too far. But it’s too much fun to mess with Hoseok. It’s fun to make him squirm.

 

The feeling must be mutual. Hoseok returns Yoongi’s kisses, despite claiming to hate them. He peppers them between Yoongi’s thighs and against his mouth so often that there are imprints of his lips on the meaty part of Yoongi’s lower hips.

 

Yoongi wishes he could say he loves every part of it. What guy would turn down ‘a helping hand’, so to speak, even if it has to be kept a secret? What normal, warm-blooded male would refuse a blowjob?

 

Yoongi isn’t sure. He’s definitely never had to voice his concerns on the subject, but Hoseok somehow finds out how to wiggle his way into _No’s_ more and more often.

 

 

  ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Yoongi could’ve sworn he brought his towel into the bathroom. Along with his change of clothes and other toiletries, he totally remembers bringing his towel with him. It should be hung up, right there, on the hook. On the door that is now inconveniently closed.

 

“Hey! Someone bring me a towel!” He calls as loudly as his tired lungs will allow. The bathroom is steamy, condensation dripping down the walls. He’s just shut the water off, failing to recognize the very obvious lack of towels in the bathroom. Not a single one, including the hand towel that’s usually next to the sink, is anywhere in sight. Which means he’ll have to wait for someone to bring him one. That could be anywhere from thirty years to five seconds—or however long it takes one of the boys to realize they have to pee.

 

No one answers him.

 

“Hoseok! HEY! _SOMEONE!”_ He’s growing impatient. The warm climate inside the bathroom is quickly growing cold the longer he stands and waits.

 

To his surprise, Hoseok actually humors him for once in his damned life. He chances to hear a _“shut the hell up”_ before the door swings open almost aggressively. Hoseok does not hesitate to stomp over to the shower and pull the curtain back. Yoongi squeals like a little girl, immediately covering himself. Hoseok rolls his eyes.

 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, honey,” he deadpans with a finger jab towards Yoongi’s crotch. He has a purple towel discolored by Jeongguk’s acne medicine in his left hand.

 

Despite his best intentions, Yoongi still flushes in embarrassment. “Give me the damn towel.”

 

“I didn’t hear a please,” Hoseok, the little fuck, smirks mischievously. He holds a hand up to his ear, waiting.

 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Is that a kink of yours?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Will you give it to me if I say it?”

 

_“Perhaps.”_

 

Yoongi breathes heavily through his nose. “Fine. _Please_ give me the damn towel. Happy?”

 

“Perhaps,” Hoseok bares his teeth in a grin. He holds the towel close to his chest and out of Yoongi’s reach. “I’m not sure if I should give it over with such bad behavior from you, though.”

 

“Hoseok, give me the fucking—”

 

“ _Make_ me.”

 

It’s Hoseok’s borderline dark, challenging tone that spurs Yoongi to lunge towards him. He really only meant to rip the towel from Hoseok’s hands and that be the end of it. Unfortunately, Hoseok is an irritating bitch. He dodges, pirouetting away from Yoongi’s grabby hands. They tussle and it’s somewhere within this playful fighting that Yoongi slips. He isn’t sure what he could’ve slipped on. Maybe the clothes littering the floor, maybe the water dripping off his body, he doesn’t know. His foot gets caught by something and he goes flying. His body flings forward, slick with fresh sweat and drying skin, and he falls.

 

Right onto the fucking doorknob.

 

 

   ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Yoongi’s dongsaengs, apparently, find this whole ordeal immensely funny. It’s even funnier because Yoongi was naked and fighting Hoseok for a fucking towel when it happened. Not only did Yoongi have to endure Namjoon’s stifled laughter, but he’s had to sit in a doctor’s office all morning getting his ear checked out.

 

“It’ll heal fine,” the doctor had said. “But I advise you get some rest.”

 

 _Rest_. The word feels odd and unfamiliar on Yoongi’s tongue and empty and meaningless bouncing around in his head. What does rest entail? He hasn’t rested once since he assimilated into life as an idol.

 

“What did the doctor mean by ‘rest’?” Yoongi decides to ask Namjoon. They’re in the car, on their way back from the appointment. Namjoon is fluttering close by Yoongi—or as close as he can with a seat between them. It still somehow manages to be stifling without Namjoon even leaning towards him.

 

Namjoon doesn’t bother looking up from his phone. “You won’t be performing or practicing for a while.”

 

Yoongi gapes. _“What?”_

 

“It’s not that hard to imagine why,” Namjoon says, in the middle of a tweet. Yoongi glares at the phone in his hands. “Your injury should be taken seriously.”

 

“It’s a mild injury, Namjoon,” Yoongi insists with a huff. “It’s nothing to take time off for. What will the fans think? And you guys will have to fill in for me. There’ll be more on your plates. I don’t want to do that to you.”

 

Namjoon, finally, graces Yoongi with his undivided attention. He locks his phone after sending his tweet for the entire world to see, smiling. “It’s not like you’re such a big presence anyway.”

 

“You just had to insert that jab, didn’t you?”

 

Namjoon laughs, full and unbridled. “It’s true. You’re like, half asleep most of the time. The fans won’t miss you _that_ much in two weeks, Yoongi.”

 

“It’s still stupid,” Yoongi snarls. His innards are feeling like they were pulled taut and then let go. His pride, or whatever remains of it, is a bit rumpled. But maybe it’ll be for the best. Maybe this is what Yoongi needs.

 

“Enjoy the vacation,” Namjoon chuckles as they climb out of the car. Yoongi gives him his best glare, to which Namjoon laughs again. 

 

 

   ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

It’s not even a week into his “rest” that Yoongi is teetering on the brink of insanity. It wasn’t often before becoming an idol that Yoongi was granted long periods of repose. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing. After a certain point, sleeping, while he loves it, becomes tiresome in and of itself. Lying around on his back doing nothing gets to be too much, even for him. And what, besides sitting on his ass all day “resting”, is Yoongi allowed to be doing? He can’t even force his friends to spend time with him whilst he “rests” because all of his friends are idols and, therefore, are too busy to be “resting” with him.

 

Fuck this “resting” bullshit. Yoongi’s said the word rest so much in the past week that he’s going to go insane. How much “rest” does one person need?

 

Apparently, a lot. It’s too bad none of his friends have thought to coordinate their injuries to line up with his.

 

So, to keep his mind at bay, Yoongi watches a lot of Netflix and spends the majority of his days in his studio. If he’s being forced into solitude, he might as well get shit done. Maybe he’ll even finish the next album while he’s at it, just to spite Namjoon.

 

But alas, his mind doesn’t like being told what to do. It keeps drifting elsewhere, to thoughts of freshly dyed hair and suit jackets. His doctor said his ear should be healed enough to perform for most of their comeback, albeit the second half of promotions. Which is great. Fantastic. Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

 

Yoongi _should_ be happier.

 

Namjoon drops in often, either to check on him because he cares or to make sure he hasn’t jumped out the window yet. It’s hard to tell sometimes. There’s only a slight difference between love and duty, after all. Because say Yoongi _did_ jump out the window; what would become of Namjoon? Or BTS? Of course, the group would be at a massive disadvantage. They’d be in the spotlight, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. The band would have to work to fill Yoongi’s place. That would mean changing choreography, flipping songs upside down to accommodate the loss of a rapper, and then the _fans_. The fans would be the worst part of the whole ordeal. It would be considerably inconvenient for all of them.

 

Yoongi thinks about this too much. It doesn’t help the group’s case that everyone is now treating him differently. They’re all hyper-aware of Yoongi’s “issues.” Everyone is walking on eggshells, waiting for Yoongi to jump off the deep end. Or out the window. It muddles the line between genuine concern for his wellbeing and something much, much uglier. Who’s to say they would care if he wasn’t in BTS? Who’s to say they’d bat their eyelashes at all if the result wasn’t imminent death?

 

Yoongi can’t fool himself into believing he’d feel any differently. When faced with issues like death or suicide, all humans respond generally the same way: with concern. That’s the point where the hero-complex comes into play and things get complicated. Some people are not motivated to help their fellow man simply because he is struggling. Some people have more selfish reasons to reach out. Anyone would be inconvenienced by someone they know dying. The guilt is then on their conscience. They have to deal with the fact that they knew that person was suicidal and did nothing about it. It’s the guilt that moves them into action.

 

It makes Yoongi question whether any of his bandmates are as worried as they let on.

 

Only Hoseok hasn’t changed much. He hasn’t undergone a sudden, overnight transformation like the rest of the damn group. He’s like he’s always been. Maybe less quiet about his affection but the same nonetheless.

 

And then there’s Jimin. Yoongi doesn’t know what to make of the kid. He hangs around their room and the studio often, slinking by on tiptoes to peep in on Yoongi. He pretends he needs to grab things from the room way too often to be mere coincidence. He brings Yoongi crackers and tea twice a day with that smile tattooed on his face. He even dropped a kiss to Yoongi’s hand yesterday when he thought Yoongi was sleeping.

 

So it’s really no surprise that he appears again, the third time today, with an excuse Yoongi quickly forgets.

 

“Why do you keep coming around?” Yoongi grumbles. Jimin looks up from where he’s rooting around in his stuff with a questioning look.

 

“What do you mean, hyung?”

 

“You know what I mean,” Yoongi replies smoothly. He watches as Jimin quickly stands up.

 

“Do I?”

 

Yoongi nearly throws his teacup at him _. “Yes_ , you _do_. _”_ He feels his mood turning sour and a migraine rapidly approaching. Great.

 

This puzzles Jimin. His eyebrows meet in the middle, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “I just wanted to check on you.”

 

“I don’t need checking up on,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

 

This is where Jimin pads across the room to drop onto the bed with Yoongi. Yoongi quite frankly didn’t invite nor give him permission to do so, but he lets it slide on the up-chance Jimin will heed his wishes and leave shortly after. 

 

“You could be lonely,” Jimin replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Oh. Right.

 

“Don’t you miss the others?” Jimin questions, scooting closer with eyebrows turned toward heaven. “Doesn’t it get tiring waiting around to get better like this?”

 

The question strikes Yoongi as odd. He gets the feeling Jimin isn’t just talking about his ear. 

 

“I mean I guess,” Yoongi shrugs noncommittally. He’s propped against a mountain of pillows with his body drowning in insufferable blankets Jimin’s piled up over the days. He regrets not going to the studio immediately after waking. Though he doubts that would deter Jimin for much longer than a half-hour at best.

 

Jimin bites his lip as he moves impossibly closer. He settles in next to Yoongi under a fuzzy, multicolored blanket. “How come you didn’t say anything? I’d love to hang out with you, hyung.”

 

Jimin timidly leans closer. He stares at Yoongi with big, searching eyes. Yoongi looks back and regrets it instantly. Jimin, sweet Jimin, is gazing at Yoongi like he’s trying to piece him back together. As if Jimin can fix whatever is plaguing Yoongi if he just tries hard enough. It’s within his gaze that Jimin is holding all the hope Yoongi’s buried deep within himself. It’s hidden somewhere under all his nerves and between the bones of his ribcage.

 

It’s been a while since Yoongi’s seen a look like that. He vaguely remembers seeing it once, in himself, reflected in the mirror above his dresser at home. The mirror was smashed that same day, along with that fragile hope. The shards have been embedded so far into Yoongi’s skin that he hasn’t thought about them in years. He hasn’t felt the prick or the sting of confident optimism in so long it gives him a shock. He feels like he might fall sideways over the bed.

 

“Hyung...? Are you okay?” Jimin prods, alarm discoloring the soft edges of his voice.

 

Yoongi catches himself on the bedside table before he can tip over and face-plant into the floor. Jimin makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t move. When Yoongi glances his way, he finds Jimin still watching him. His eyes are still wide, owlish, but they’ve changed. Jimin, for whatever he was searching so desperately for in Yoongi, seems to have found what he was looking for. And he's disappointed.

 

Yoongi pushes the blankets away and leans back against the pillows. He feels like he’s suffocating. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he says with a shake of the head. “I just... feel a bit lightheaded.”

 

Jimin isn’t convinced. “I’m getting Namjoon-hyung,” he decides. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and slides off it. He’s just made it to the door when his words and actions register in Yoongi’s head.

 

“Don’t get him,” he all but whines. “He’s going to make this worse.”

 

“No. He’s going to help,” Jimin promises.

 

Then Jimin’s gone. To Yoongi’s surprise, he doesn’t return with Namjoon. It’s Hoseok that creeps into the room instead. Yoongi promptly pretends to be asleep.

 

“I know you’re awake, idiot,” Hoseok chuckles, pinching Yoongi’s arm. The latter starts at the contact, then curses his instincts for giving himself away.

 

“Let me sleep,” Yoongi complains grumpily. This pulls a smile from Hoseok that looks like sunbeams peeking through feathery clouds.

 

“So let me take care of you in return,” Hoseok suggests impishly. Ah, to be young, Yoongi thinks like the old man he really is inside.

 

“That’s none of your concern,” he brushes Hoseok away. Maybe, if he sits really still, Hoseok will lose the sense of sight and leave. He tests it out, but Hoseok just gives him a quizzical look.

 

“Sorry, bud. It’s my job. But what’s up with you? It’s nearly noon and you’re still in bed. Finally taking this rest thing seriously?” Hoseok chuckles with a gesture to Yoongi’s nest atop the bed. “Looks comfy. Can I join later?”

 

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Jimin still lives here, you know.”

 

“Eh,” Hoseok shrugs one shoulder, not troubled in the least. “He’s had his fair share of platonic cuddling. _And then some_. He’s kind of touchy, isn’t he?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Yoongi simmers. “I suppose you would, though, wouldn’t you?”

 

It’s Hoseok’s turn to squint, nonplussed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Then, with a leer, “Are you jealous?”

 

Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I just think it’s dangerous to be so... open with him.” Yoongi remembers with a grimace that they never had that discussion he promised Jimin.

 

“What are you so afraid of?” Hoseok asks, taking a seat at the end of the bed with a satisfied little sigh. He must be tired after the morning schedules.

 

“He could do anything with the information, Hoseok. How do we know he’s not going to spread this around? How do we know he hasn’t _already?”_

 

“Re- _lax,”_ Hoseok chastises, waving a hand in front of him to dispel Yoongi’s suspicions and possibly hit him in the face. “If Namjoon got whiff of it, he’d be all over us. You know what happened when he found out about Taehyung and Jeongguk. Besides, it’s not like Jimin would do that, to begin with. He’s a cool kid, Yoongi. You don’t give him enough credit.”

 

“We still need to discuss it with him.” Yoongi is firm in his belief that communication is key. Hoseok and he might suck in that particular aspect, but that doesn’t mean they can’t try for Jimin’s sake.  

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok acquiesces begrudgingly. A groan forces its way out of his throat and fills up the room. He shoots an irritated look in Yoongi’s direction before heaving himself off the bed and trotting to the table in the corner to clean up the mess of crackers Yoongi left there earlier. He’s wearing wool socks. Yoongi stares at them.

 

“Why are you wearing socks?” He asks. Hoseok glances at him.

 

“Because it’s cold in here?” He replies, but it’s more of a question than a statement. “Why are you lying there in a t-shirt? Pull the blankets up. Aren’t you cold?”

 

“Aren’t you _hot_?”

 

Hoseok smirks and Yoongi shushes him with a hand raise. “I’m burning up,” he says seriously. Hoseok eyes him with only a smidgen of actual worry. He leans over Yoongi’s body and feels his forehead. He squawks when his palm touches the older boy’s forehead.

 

“Shit, are you okay? You feel like you’re running a fever.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t be _walking_ a fever, now would I?”

 

Hoseok gives him a dirty look. “Leave the jokes to Jin.”

 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything more or make any objections as the younger boy bustles about the room with agitation. He gives Yoongi the talking-to of a lifetime about taking care of his health. It’s nothing Yoongi hasn’t heard before from six other sources. He supposes this is a step up from Namjoon’s mental health questionnaire, though not by much.

 

“I should’ve checked up on you sooner,” Hoseok laments too loudly sometime later.

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Yoongi mutters with a loud sigh as Hoseok only continues dabbing a cold washcloth against his face. It feels good, actually, but that’s unimportant at present.

 

Hoseok dabs a little harder than necessary directly over Yoongi’s mouth. “Shut up and let me take care of you,” he demands in a harsh tone. Yoongi would laugh if the washcloth wasn’t half down his throat.

 

“There,” Hoseok leans back and observes the older boy once he feels he’s adequately bathed Yoongi’s face. “Isn’t that much better?”

 

Hoseok gives him no chance to respond before leaping off the bed in search of Aspirin. It’s during the two minutes Hoseok’s digging in his suitcase that the door opens. Yoongi’s right in the middle of ignoring his throbbing headache.

 

“Hyung?” Jimin’s tentative voice. Yoongi shifts on the bed so his face can be seen. Jimin seems more terrified than concerned when their eyes meet across the room, a deer-in-the-headlights aesthetic about him. He looks at Yoongi and takes in the sweat-drenched t-shirt and pale legs and looks away again.

 

“Yoongi-hyung’s not feeling well,” Hoseok stops his rummaging to explain in a weird baby voice, making equally weird faces with his fingers squishing his cheeks together.

 

Yoongi doesn’t bother bringing up the fact that he feels fine.

 

“I know. What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

 

“He’s got a fever.”

 

“Have you given him medicine? I w-went to get Namjoon but couldn’t find him...”

 

Yoongi doesn’t bother mentioning that talking about him as if he isn’t _right_ _here_ is irritating as fuck.

 

“Don’t bother Namjoon with trivial stuff like this,” Hoseok waves it away with an award-winning smile.

 

Yoongi pretends that doesn’t make his headache worse.

 

Jimin’s eyes travel to Yoongi again. He moves over to him slowly, like one would approach a scared animal. Jimin is more scared than your typical zoo-goer in this case. He advances like he’s stepping around land mines and a single wrong step will blow him to smithereens.

 

“Poking the bear might not be the best idea,” Hoseok interrupts Jimin’s movements from the floor.

 

“Why?” Jimin, ever the innocent, objects.

 

“Yoongi’s being pissy. Just leave him alone.”

 

Yoongi doesn’t deny this and Jimin doesn’t heed the advice. He leans forward with a sweet smile, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s neck and bringing their proximity from close to _way too close._ He can smell Jimin’s cologne. If wants to, he could kiss Jimin from this distance.

 

Yoongi doesn’t want to.

 

But Yoongi also doesn’t pull away because... well, because it’s Jimin. And Jimin smells nice and his cheeks are dusted the prettiest shade of pink and he’s humming some tune that probably sounds nothing like the original, and it’s whatever. He snuggles into Yoongi and Yoongi allows it. He’s too tired and his headache too intense to warrant unnecessary action.

 

“You make hyung seem too mean,” Jimin turns his head to whine, away from Yoongi and towards Hoseok on the floor. Hoseok chuckles, though it sounds a bit strained.

 

“He’s mean all on his own, bub,” Hoseok says wryly. He puffs his chest as if that was a resounding blow to Yoongi’s pride.

 

Yoongi glares over Jimin’s shoulder. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

 

Jimin pats Yoongi’s cheek, effectively startling the latter. He then climbs out of Yoongi’s arms and joins Hoseok on the floor and they search for the lost Aspirin together and talk about whatever dumb shit Taehyung and Jeongguk have gotten themselves into. Yoongi doesn’t listen, but he catches Hoseok looking at him more than once. He’s taking too much time to find the medication and exerting too much caution in the way he observes Yoongi. 

 

Yoongi pretends his arms don’t feel emptier than usual.

 

 

   ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Somehow, that night sees all three of them in the same bed. Their worrying seems to have found both Hoseok and Jimin curled on either side of Yoongi, protective, warm. If they hadn’t found the Aspirin earlier, Yoongi would be burning up. But it’s kind of nice. Really crowded on the bed that’s not big enough for them, but nice regardless.

 

So he says so.

 

“Go to sleep,” Hoseok mumbles sleepily in return.

 

“I _am_ asleep,” Yoongi counters playfully. He wants to kiss Hoseok. He wants to do anything but lie here, but Jimin’s right there. He knows Jimin would never say anything and isn’t traditional in that sense, but it still feels wrong. Jimin is just— just...isn’t.

 

What he isn’t, Yoongi’s not sure.

 

The boy in question snuggles further into Yoongi’s chest with a yawn. “I’m asleep, too,” he whispers dangerously close to Yoongi’s neck. The area is still sensitive from his fight with Hoseok. It’s been endless days of covering the hickeys and bruises with foundation and concealer. He’d yelled at Hoseok about that. The feeling of Hoseok’s teeth in his neck still hasn’t gone away. Jimin’s breath against the area is feathery light, like an angel’s touch, but it sets all of Yoongi’s senses into overdrive.

 

“So stop talking if you’re both asleep,” Hoseok orders. He voice is bogged down by sleepiness and his words sound like they’re dragging against the floor. 

 

“I don’t want to sleep, hyung,” Jimin mouths almost inaudibly. Yoongi blinks at him in the darkness.

 

“Why?” Both he and Hoseok ask simultaneously. It’s a bit intimidating. Yoongi half thinks they’ve scared Jimin into reticence. But no, Jimin does speak. And when he does, his voice is so distantly cold it chills Yoongi to the bone.

 

“I don’t want to wake up and be alone again.”

 

Oh. Yoongi certainly wasn’t expecting that. The implications of that sentence alone are numerous. They pile up like bricks in Yoongi’s overworked brain. Jimin’s small huff is the mortar and before Yoongi knows it, there’s a thick wall keeping him out. All Yoongi can do is listen to his tired heart beating inside his ribs. He doesn’t know what to say. Hoseok doesn’t say anything either, but Yoongi sees him squeeze Jimin’s elbow.

 

Eventually, Jimin must get tired of the silence. “Sorry,” he apologizes into the dark room quietly.

 

Hoseok lifts his head from Yoongi’s shoulder. “What for?”

 

Jimin tenses against Yoongi’s side. Yoongi feels him hold his breath, but Jimin is once again muting himself.

 

Hoseok nods off shortly after. Then it’s Jimin’s turn, though it takes much longer. Yoongi waits in the darkness for the stiffness to leave Jimin’s body and ooze out of him until his breathing evens out and he’s fully relaxed. Yoongi brushes his fingers through the sleeping boy’s bangs before he can think better of it.

 

_I don’t want to wake up and be alone again._

 

Yoongi doesn’t want to be alone, either.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Yoongi inner-monologues his thoughts regarding suicide/depression. Nothing graphic is depicted, but suicide is mentioned a couple of times.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this took so long!
> 
> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

Sometimes Jimin wishes he was a plant.

 

This isn’t really for any profound reasons. It’s just that plants wither and die when denied the sufficient sunlight and nutrients they need. If Jimin was a plant, he’d at least be dead and not stuck in a perpetual state of wanting to be.

 

Jimin would also possess the ability to hide in plain sight if he was a plant. Like the cactus sitting on Yoongi’s bedside table. Yoongi somehow forgets the thing exists, yet it’s still clinging to life like Jimin’s worthless self, despite not being watered in probably four years. If Jimin was a plant, that poor excuse of a houseplant would be him. Left to die and forgotten, that would be Jimin.

 

Okay, so maybe Jimin is a wee-bit bitter. He’s just run out of options, so instead of admitting his defeat, he’s occupying himself by imagining himself as various kinds of vegetation. Admittedly, Jimin rather likes being human, but if it means killing off this bothersome crush and an equilibrium being reached, he’d settle for a measly succulent any day.

 

It could almost be funny, how ironic it all is. (Except this is Jimin’s life that’s going down the drain and he’s not exactly in the position to be laughing currently.) Despite his best efforts, everything ends up right back where it started: with Jimin. Stupid, _stupid_ Jimin. Everything stemmed from his own head. Yet, as he skips meals and beats himself up over it, he still doesn’t want to accept that. Everything’s his own fault. But everything would be a lot better without this stupid _crush_.

 

Except—Jimin isn’t so sure it’s just a crush. A crush is like his dumb plant analogy; a plant can be killed off.  It collects the things it needs from the environment it grows in. If said environment doesn’t allow for reasonable access to sunlight or the soil is too brittle or dry, the freaking thing takes the fucking hint and keels over.

 

_God, why can’t Jimin take a hint?!_

 

It hurts. It hurts to look at Yoongi and Hoseok and it hurts when he watches himself be overlooked every time he so desperately needs someone to _notice him_. The pain won’t go away, either, and that makes everything a hundred times worse. He cares about his hyungs so unbearably much. He cares enough to ignore his own feelings just to see them happy. He cares about Yoongi and Hoseok so much more than a simple crush could explain away. And unlike a plant, this _crush_ doesn’t diminish one teensy bit, despite him spraying it with fucking herbicides every time Yoongi or Hoseok so much as look at him.

 

Jimin wants it all to stop. He’s becoming the one thing he hates the most: a fool who lets their feelings get the better of them.

 

Or, to be more accurate: an idiot that spies on his roommates in their own goddamn room.

Hoseok laughs at something Yoongi said, his head falling backward on the bed. The fall is cushioned by the dozens of blankets and pillows stacked there. Yoongi, seated next to him, has a fond expression on his face that makes Jimin’s chest ache. They’re sat in the middle of the messy room on a rare occasion Hoseok isn’t being dragged away to practice with Jimin. Jimin would like to say he’s got most of his choreography down, perfected. Unfortunately, his subconscious seems to think there are more important things to be worried about.

 

“He did _what_?” Hoseok asks incredulously. He’s barely containing his laughter enough for Jimin to hear Yoongi when he tries to explain.

 

“He, like, legit _bit_ me,” Yoongi clarifies with a shiver, appalled. Jimin had zoned out during the first part of the story, too busy ogling Yoongi’s cactus, so he missed who it is that bit Yoongi. He leans forward on his knees toward the partially closed door, squinting through the open slit.

 

“Ew. Why would he do that?”

 

Jimin can imagine Hoseok’s face twisting in repugnance even though he can’t see him.

  

“No fucking idea; it’s _Taehyung_.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Hoseok chuckles. Jimin hears him shuffling around a bit before he sees him finally relax on his side, settling like unwanted dust. He’s facing Yoongi. Much to Jimin’s distress, he’s also faced towards the closet Jimin’s hiding inside. The younger boy gulps.

 

“Has another member ever bitten you?” Hoseok smirks.

 

Jimin can practically _see_ Yoongi rolling his eyes, even though Jimin can’t exactly, well,  _see_ through the back of his head. The little hairs on Jimin’s spine prickle at Hoseok’s tone.

 

“Why? Are you jealous?” Yoongi presses forward into Hoseok, who just turns away defiantly.

 

“Of course not, asshole.”

 

“Sounds like you are.” Then, in a whisper, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

 

“I’m always cute,” Hoseok replies dryly. This earns him a wet, slobbery kiss on the cheek. Hoseok screams in disgust, but Yoongi does it again, this time on the mouth. Hoseok makes a disgruntled noise through the kiss and sticks his fingers so far into Yoongi’s eyes the other boy gives up.

 

“You’re lame,” Yoongi declares.

 

“You’re lamer,” is Hoseok’s counter.

 

Jimin, sitting inside the closet, watches this exchange with his cheeks ablaze. There’s something oddly enticing about watching his hyungs. But even watching them interact outside of these secret, intimate moments feels like he's overstepping some imaginary line. Not to mention compromising situations like this. It raises questions without answers and answers that don't fit the context of the question. He hates them, really he does, and he hates this crush even more. But Jimin wants nothing more than to be between them with every fiber of his being. It's confusing and complicated. Jimin wants nothing to do with it.

 

It’s funny, because even as he thinks that, Jimin sits inside his closet to spy on his biggest problem. It vaguely feels like staring down the eye of a monster. Maybe it’s the monster that’s been living under his bed. Maybe it’s spikey like Yoongi’s cactus.

 

“You’re a pretty good kisser,” Yoongi mumbles quietly. His voice sounds wistful to Jimin, like a leaf fluttering in an autumn breeze. “You’ve probably kissed a lot of people.”

 

Hoseok sits up. “Look who’s jealous now.”

 

“I’m serious, Hobi.”

 

“I haven’t kissed a _lot_ ,” Hoseok scoffs, patting Yoongi’s hip comfortingly. “Just a couple people in high school and...”

 

“And...?”

 

“And Jimin.”

 

Jimin stills. Oh. He listens intently as silence creeps into the spaces between their sentences and the slat he’s watching through. He feels his mouth go dry. It makes his throat feel tight as he swallows. He knows Hoseok wouldn’t mention it. Hoseok knows that’s a sworn secret; they had an agreement. Hoseok wouldn’t say anything. He _couldn’t._

 

“Oh? Why’d you kiss Jimin?” Yoongi’s voice is carefully impassive. There’s an unspoken _when did you do this?_ lingering behind.

 

“I didn’t. Jimin kissed _me_.”

 

Jimin’s stomach lurches. The memory comes flooding back to him as if through water. Jimin can hear the waves crashing around him, threatening to swallow him whole. He gasps for air with a pained whine.

 

Hoseok’s eyes shoot toward the closet with his brows furrowed. Jimin sits inside, paralyzed. This is just like staring at the monster under his bed and Jimin doesn’t have blankets to hide under this time.

 

“Did you hear that?” Hoseok asks. Yoongi turns towards Jimin’s hiding place as well. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Eventually, Yoongi gets up from the bed. In a flash of white-hot panic, Jimin scoots himself against the far wall of the closet and in his haste he hits his back against it with a loud thud. He bites his lip, but a groan still escapes him. Before he can process anything, the flimsy door slides open and Yoongi’s dark eyes are staring down at him with a frown.

 

_“Jimin?”_

 

Hoseok joins Yoongi in an instant. Four eyes stare holes into Jimin, who sits at their feet with a flushed face. He can’t bring himself to meet their confused gazes, so he pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in them. Arms wrapped tightly around him, he stays just like that. Desperately, he wishes he was Yoongi’s dying plant. At least then, his hyungs wouldn’t be looking at him at all.

 

“What are you doing in here?” Hoseok crouches down to Jimin’s level. Jimin can’t see him, but he feels his hyung crawl closer. Hoseok pokes at his arm.

 

“I was... looking for something,” Jimin weakly attempts to justify his actions. His voice is mumbled, his face still smushed into his thighs.

 

Hoseok, in complete bewilderment, doesn’t sound the least bit convinced when he laughs humorlessly. “But we’ve been in here for almost an hour and didn’t see you enter or leave,” he points out reproachfully.

 

Jimin doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Were you spying on us?”

 

Yoongi hits the nail on the head. Jimin starts a little at that and it must’ve given him away, because Hoseok’s hand retracts itself and he stands up again.

 

“Why?”

 

For some reason, Hoseok sounds hurt and that isn’t right. Jimin slowly lifts his head to catch Hoseok’s conflicted gaze. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

 

“I don’t know...” Jimin’s lip wobbles. He looks between them, on the verge of tears. Yoongi appears mildly revolted, but Jimin can see the cogs of his brain working to put two and two together. He’s always been awfully perceptive. More than that is Hoseok, though, and Hoseok— he seats himself back on the bed with indifference.

 

“That’s not very nice to do to your hyungs,” Hoseok monotones. Jimin nearly shits himself because Hoseok has never sounded so emotionless and disappointed in the same sentence before.

 

“Not to mention weird,” Yoongi adds intelligently with a scowl. “Isn’t there a law against something like this?”

 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “You’re thinking of stalking, and no, there isn’t.” Yoongi nods distantly. “Besides, Jimin isn’t stalking us... _is he_?” Hoseok narrows his eyes accusingly.

 

“No!” Jimin cries immediately. It’s a bit too rushed to be casual and both Yoongi and Hoseok’s eyebrows reach for their hairlines simultaneously.

 

“Sounds like something a stalker would say,” Yoongi comments.

 

“I-I’m not _stalking_ you! I was just... just...” Jimin trails off miserably. What _was_ he doing? Did he honestly think this was a good idea? He’s not a plant and he’ll never be. There’s no way he’s going to nip his feelings in the bud if he keeps actively seeking out disappointment this way. Jimin feeds on it. Call it a bad character trait.

 

Ugh.

 

“Just _what_?” Asks Hoseok haughtily. “From our perspective, it seems like that’s exactly what you were doing.”

 

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed. “I was just... watching.”

 

The sentence falls awkwardly from Jimin’s lips. It floats about the quiet room and bounces off the far wall, hurling back at Jimin with twice its force. What a stupid thing to say.

 

Yoongi puffs his cheeks out in an irritated sigh. “I feel like this is weirdly symbolic; you, in a closet, hiding. It should be a given that spying on people is an invasion of privacy, not to mention rude. You could’ve just... I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He runs his hands through his hair and scrubs one down his face.

 

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen next time!” Jimin desperately tries to redeem himself. His stomach is flip-flopping uncomfortably inside of him. None of this is really making sense. Of course, anyone would be upset with someone for spying on them. But Yoongi isn’t anywhere near as angry as Jimin thought he would be. And Hoseok just seems disappointed. But _why?_

 

“There better not _be_ a next time,” Hoseok announces icily, sternly, and it’s like a bucket of freezing water being dumped over Jimin’s head. “We’re letting you off easy, understand?”

 

Jimin nods solemnly. He does understand.

 

 

   ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Jimin is no houseplant. Contrary to his wishes, he can’t hide in front of the naked eye. He can’t be overlooked or forgotten in someone’s window. Jimin is a person, and a famous one at that. He should be getting loads of attention.

 

Key word being: _should_.

 

Jimin can’t wrap his head around it. What about him is so inadequate? He wants to know why this insatiable curiosity within him keeps growing and growing, regardless of his vigorous weeding.  There are so many questions swirling around in his belly that are threatening to spill from him. He’s afraid that one of these days he’s going to word-vomit and effectively expose himself. Yoongi and Hoseok won’t be able to even glance at him if that were to happen, let alone allow him to continue on his current path.

 

Jimin is voraciously nosy. Yoongi and Hoseok definitely got a taste for Jimin’s creepiness yesterday when they caught him spying on them. If that wasn’t enough for them to banish Jimin and renounce his position as their friend, then maybe Jimin has more wiggle room than he thought.

 

The real question is whether stalking Yoongi is within his wiggle rights.

 

“We’ll just have to find out,” Jimin murmurs to himself. If this whole thing backfires in a big way, he can blame Namjoon for setting up a prime opportunity. The leader had asked Jimin to keep an eye on Yoongi because he’s had “worrisome” conduct as of late. Whatever that means, Jimin isn’t so sure. Regardless, Namjoon’s just as worried about Yoongi as Jimin is and it’s for this reason that Jimin agrees to help. You know, since they share a room and all. 

 

So Jimin conjures an excuse to visit Yoongi in his studio. It isn’t anything out of character for him, but it feels strained now. After yesterday, Jimin isn’t sure how he’s going to be treated showing up unannounced. It isn’t that Jimin’s ever been welcomed with open arms by Yoongi, but he still feels like he’d made some real progress. He feels they were finally making leaps and bounds (albeit small ones) in the right direction. Yoongi was finally treating him like he actually _enjoys_ his company. Jimin really hopes his recent actions haven’t compromised that.

 

“C-can I... come in?” Jimin peeks his head around the door to Yoongi’s studio to look inside.

 

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively in the door’s general direction. Jimin takes the cue as a better alternative to “no, fuck you.” He shuts the door behind him on his way to Yoongi’s side. The older boy is wearing a snapback and one of their old band t-shirts. Dark circles frame his eyes.

 

“Need something?” Yoongi voices. The sound is gruff, as if his voice hasn’t been used in a while. Jimin wouldn’t put it past him; he hasn’t seen Yoongi since the closet fiasco yesterday. That may or may not be bad news.

 

Jimin shakes his head cautiously. He chooses his next words carefully. “Just... stopping in,” he fiddles with his fingers. “T-to see how my favorite hyung is.” He smiles nervously. Yoongi rips his eyes from his computer screen to scrutinize Jimin under a probing stare.

 

“Hoseok’s your favorite hyung,” he deadpans. 

 

“No!” Jimin squeaks. “You both are!”

 

Yoongi’s brow furrows. He’s resolutely unconvinced. “You’ve never really liked me,” he says.

 

Jimin hides his shocked disappointment (his eyes definitely _not_ welling up with tears) by making a show of shrugging his shoulders with his whole body. “What makes you think that?” Jimin scoffs. He sounds too much like a puppy being kicked to be casual. He tried, at least.

 

To Jimin’s surprise, Yoongi doesn’t spin around in his swivel chair. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge Jimin’s inquiry. Instead, he types away at something and pokes around his desk and computer screen like an office worker with a lot of time and not much to do. Jimin can tell he’s not really doing anything because his leg is bouncing under the desk. He only does that when he’s nervous or anxious about something.

 

Jimin clears his throat and bravely begins. “I’m not really one to pick favorites. So like, y-yeah that contradicts what I just said, but if I _did_ , you and Hoseok-hyung would be my top two.” What is he _saying?_ Jimin chews his bottom lip. “Sorry, this isn’t really helping my case. What I’m trying to say—”

 

“Why are you _really_ here, Jimin?” Yoongi trucks right over Jimin and the action feels like he’s shoveling hot coals down Jimin’s throat. The younger boy swallows nervously.

 

“To see... you...” he tries not to shrink visibly. “I just wanted to... hang out,” he ends lamely, voice squeaking. Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Jimin coughs awkwardly. “S-sorry...”

 

Yoongi spins around in his chair slowly. “What?” His face says he’s confused, but his voice is another story. It’s disbelief that’s clear in his tone. Jimin can’t grasp the concept.

 

“I don’t...” Jimin closes his eyes. God, he can’t even finish the thought. Why was he born a human? “Sorry.”

 

“Why do you keep apologizing?” Yoongi asks. “Is this about yesterday?”

 

Jimin’s eyes fly open. Apparently, that was far more incriminating than Jimin deemed, because Yoongi frowns.

 

“I’m not sure why you were hiding in there, and you won’t tell us anything, so it only makes me wonder,” Yoongi folds his arms over his chest. His foot is still tapping the floor. “Wouldn’t it be much simpler to explain? Otherwise...” he shakes his head briefly. “Otherwise, things can be interpreted wrong. Did you get stuck in there and didn’t want to come out while we were there? Is that it? Or is it another reason?”

 

Jimin grimaces. Yeah, that’d be the most innocent reason. He might even be able to get away from this scratch-free if he just plays along.

 

“...That’s not it,” Yoongi states.

 

Jimin stares at him. Yoongi stares right back, and it’s like he can see right into Jimin’s brain. It’s like suddenly he knows everything and he looks so _disappointed_. He drags his gaze away again, unable to bear Yoongi’s eyes any longer. He bores holes into the toes of his shoes, wishing the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

 

He hears Yoongi chuckle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me, Jimin,” he teases lightheartedly.

 

Jimin chokes on his spit. Like, he _actually_ fucking chokes like a fucking dumbass and coughs his way into betraying himself. Yoongi leaps to his feet to slap a hand against Jimin’s back. It’s supposed to help with choking or something, but Jimin isn’t in an appreciative mood.

 

“I’m fine,” he rasps, throat now raw. He looks everywhere but at Yoongi.

 

“Uh, I’m not sure if that was miraculously timed or what, but I think we have some talking to do,” Yoongi says. His hands are splayed out before him in a universal _I mean no harm_ gesture. “And maybe we should sit down,” he decides upon taking in Jimin’s flushed face and pained expression. He gently pushes Jimin to sit in his swivel chair, taking up residence on the edge of the desk himself. “So, Jimin, I noticed you’ve been acting a bit strange recently.”

 

Jimin does a poor job of containing a groan. “Please,” he pleads, though it’s not far from the realm of begging. “Spare me the humiliation. Can we just forget this happened? I swear I won’t do anything weird ever again. _Please_.”

 

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow. It’s his left one. “Here I thought begging was Hoseok’s thing,” he comments. When Jimin opens his mouth to question it, Yoongi shushes him. “Never mind. That’s a story for a different day.” He gives Jimin a weird look. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you catch my cold?”

 

Jimin, for his part, is trying his best not to shit himself. “No, why?”

 

“You’re all red.”

 

“How observant of you.”

 

Yoongi barks a laugh. “Okay, tiger. Enough stalling. I’d like to know what’s going on.”

 

Jimin scowls down at his hands. They’re picking at the fabric of his jeans, fingers slipping into the threadbare holes on his knees absentmindedly. He doesn’t have a single benevolent bone inside his body to keep his glare from settling deep into his face, even when he lifts his head to meet Yoongi’s eyes.

 

“Nothing’s going on,” he says, much like the petulant child he feels inside.

 

Yoongi hums. “See, I don’t think that’s the case.”

 

“Not everything’s how it seems.”

 

This draws a long, exasperated sigh from Yoongi. “Look, kid. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s your pick. But I’ll have you know, I don’t appreciate you sneaking around Hoseok and I. It’s... _weird_. Do you have some kind of fetish?”

 

Jimin, confused, clears his throat. “Um, no. That’s weird.”

 

“That’s what I’m saying! You think I want to have these thoughts about my friend? Just tell me what’s going on and we can forget this happened.”

 

If only it were that simple. Still, it would be in Jimin’s best interest to appeal to Yoongi’s humanity.

 

“I have a... a problem.”

 

“A problem involving fetishes?”

 

“God, _no,_ hyung,” Jimin huffs. “It’s... it has to do with you and Hoseok-hyung. I thought I had it under control but yesterday kind of just... happened.”

 

Yoongi purses his lips. “No offense, but this sounds like the beginning of a bad porno. But—don’t glare at me like that—it can’t be, because this is _me_ and _Hoseok_ we’re talking about. And you. You’d be the last person to star in a porno—no offense, I just don’t get that kind of vibe from you. Not that I’ve thought about this before. Because I haven’t.”

 

Jimin stares dumbly. What the hell?  

 

“Ignore all of that,” Yoongi grimaces. “Just tell me straight: what’s going on?”

 

There’s a pun in there somewhere.

 

Yoongi folds his arms over his chest. There’s a lump in Jimin’s throat he has to talk around.

 

“I... like this person,” Jimin whispers. That’s all he can manage before his stomach drops because Yoongi nods like he _knows_ , and that thought is terrifying.

 

“I figured. Do I know them?”

 

Jimin appreciates the gender-neutral pronouns on every level. It saves him the awkward, oh-it’s-actually-a-boy speech. Why Yoongi would assume Jimin is anything other than straight is beyond him, though.

 

“Yes,” Jimin admits, small. “But you can’t know any more. It’ll give them away and—I’m not ready for that.” He heaves a deep breath, braving a glance at Yoongi to gauge his reaction. When he does, he finds Yoongi’s lips set in a hard line, his skin pale and chalk-like. It vaguely makes Jimin sick.

 

“I hate to tell you this, but... we can’t date in this business,” Yoongi goes ahead and tells him anyway. “Especially between... between bandmates.”

 

Jimin’s eyes bulge out of his head.

 

“I already know, Jimin. It’s Hoseok, isn’t it?” When Jimin does little more than blink, Yoongi sighs again. “I mean, why else would you be in the closet, or be coming to me here? I wish we could’ve discussed this when we first became roommates but... _fuck_.” Yoongi rubs his eyes wearily.

 

Jimin’s vision swims. “I... I don’t think coming here was a good idea,” he chokes out. His throat is contracting, closing in, trapping him. If he doesn’t stop it, if he doesn’t get out of the room, it’s going to shut permanently and keep him out of his own body. He’ll just be a head. A prickly, poky head that’s malnourished and forgotten. Just like Yoongi’s cactus.

 

“Jimin, that’s not what I meant—”

 

“No, hyung, it’s okay.” A weak smile settles into the thin lines of Jimin’s face, sinking into the cracks and wrinkles like glue. Yoongi plops his chair in defeat, huffing. Jimin quietly lets himself out. His skin feels tight.

 

    ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Jimin finds himself outside Namjoon’s room sometime after midnight. Namjoon doesn’t ask much; he gives Jimin a tired smile and asks him to please not make a mess in the space. Jimin is forever grateful. He feels more plant than human now. He fears he might wither and die under another’s scrutiny.

 

Namjoon and Jin share a room, but Jin’s been gone filming Law of the Jungle, so the other bed is free. Jimin gladly takes it.

 

“You know, you can always talk to me if there are ever issues with Sope-hyungs,” Namjoon remarks long after the lights have been turned off. Jimin half suspected the elder had already fallen asleep. He supposes he should’ve known better.

 

Jimin is quiet a moment.

 

“Why would there be issues?” he replies evenly.

 

“I’m just saying in case something ever happens.”

 

Jimin mentally pictures him shrugging, though he can’t make out where the blankets end and Namjoon begins. It’s too dark to see anything besides the dim blue light emanating from Namjoon’s laptop charger.

 

“I’m always the one causing problems,” Jimin mumbles into Jin’s comforter. He feels small. Really, really small. He chokes trying to stifle a sob.

 

Namjoon sits up abruptly. “Jiminnie, are you okay?!” Alarm evident in his tone, he hurries to Jimin’s side, only to be weakly pushed away by the younger. 

 

“I’m fine, hyung,” he sniffs. He blinks up towards the ceiling, face set in a grimace. Stupid emotions. This must be why Hoseok and Yoongi don’t like him. Why is he so goddamn _sensitive_?

 

“You’re crying, dumb-dumb,” Namjoon tenderly chastises. “It’s okay to not be fine sometimes.”

 

Jimin really doesn’t want to hear Namjoon’s deep emotional bullshit this late into the mess. He should’ve just listened to everyone. He should’ve learned over the years. How many times has he screwed up? He should’ve taken notes. Fuck, he was always really bad at taking notes in school. He should’ve learned that too.

 

“I watched a sad movie,” Jimin lies through his teeth, wiping at his moist cheeks with the back of his hand. “It made me upset, so I cried a little. I was too embarrassed to go back and sleep with Yoongi and Hoseok hyungs and have them see me like this. I’m sorry.”

 

Namjoon chuckles and ruffles Jimin’s hair. He nearly stretches towards Namjoon, searching for the warmth and comfort he so desperately craves. Thankfully, Namjoon pulls away almost immediately and crawls back into his own bed.

 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Namjoon yaws. “Now go to sleep.”

 

Jimin can’t find any more tears.

 

 

    ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

When the morning light streams through Namjoon’s blinds and pries Jimin’s eyelids open, Namjoon is already awake. Jimin can just barely make out the sound of him moving about the room through his sleep-induced haze. He almost misses when Namjoon shakes him lightly.

 

“Jimin, get up.”

 

Jimin rolls over and feels the sheets against his bare legs. His eyes fly open. _No_.

 

The sight of Namjoon worriedly hovering over Jimin is what greets his bleary gaze. He looks strikingly similar to Jimin’s mother. The mental image is making bile rise in Jimin’s throat.

 

Namjoon opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. He can’t seem to string enough words together to make a sentence. Jimin pulls the sheets up to his chin despite the sickening feeling and searches wildly about the room in a panic. His heartbeat is in his ears, thumping loudly. Accelerated breathing, beads of perspiration form on Jimin’s forehead. He didn’t think this would happen after so long. He didn’t think it’d happen now.

 

He should’ve known.

 

“Jimin, are you... are you okay?” Namjoon examines tentatively. His voice is barely there, but his eyes are wide with surprise. He looks down at Jimin in pure shock. Disbelief and sadness wash over his features and that only makes the situation that much worse. Namjoon wants to pry. He wants to ask questions Jimin’s not prepared to answer, and the worst part about it is that there’s nothing Jimin can do about it. There’s nothing Jimin can do at all. There isn’t a single fucking thing in his life he can control.

 

There’s a little voice at the back of Jimin’s head. Jimin, the control freak, the one that likes things just so and doesn’t want them any other way. Jimin, who’s so helplessly lost. It’s to him that the voice speaks and the voice is kind. It’s a nice voice. Jimin’s heard it before. He hears it all the time, but he hasn’t heard so much of it recently. He hates that voice.

 

Right now, though, that voice is comforting to hear. At least, at the very end of the day, Jimin still has that voice. If nothing else, Jimin can control that.

 

Jimin rudely pushes Namjoon’s hands away. He ends up accidentally scratching Namjoon and, in a horrified dash, Jimin just catches red oozing out of the cut before he wraps the sheets around himself and runs to the bathroom. Before Namjoon can chase after him and demand an explanation, Jimin locks the door behind him. Loud sobs are wracking his body now. He can hear Namjoon on the other side of the door, but he doesn’t care.

 

After a while, Namjoon’s hushed voice wafts through the wood and fills up the hollow bathroom and the empty boy.

 

“I...I won’t tell anyone that you wet the bed, Jimin. Please come talk to me when you’re ready.”

 

Jimin feels prickly and gross and wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to be a cactus anymore.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Bed-wetting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT AS OF JUNE 12TH: so i'm going back and rewriting things. i'm putting ♛ by the chapters that are edited, if any of you would like to reread. hopefully this won't take too long and i can continue with the next chapters. i'm so sorry to anyone that's been wondering what's up with me!
> 
> finished editing as of 7/31/17 (i know,, it took me like forever but i'm LAZY)
> 
> Please see the end note for warnings.

 

Hoseok often wonders how he looks from the outside.

 

His mother used to tell him it's what's on the inside that counts. But Hoseok's insides are hidden by his flesh, his bones, his smile, his teeth; no one else will ever know, truly, what's between his ribs or in the place his heart is supposed to be. Guess as they might, no one has ever looked at Hoseok and _seen_ him.

 

Hoseok has a mirror. He watches their interviews to pick apart anything that seems suspicious. He waits, and he listens, but how he sees himself and how the world views him are two very different things. Sometimes there are moments he questions whether it's really him that's reflected in the glass. Who's to say he’s human and not two-dimensional? He feels fake. He doesn't feel like the same boy he sees on TV. He feels like a replacement to a better version of himself he dropped and broke somewhere during his childhood. Is this what the fans see too?

 

He remembers Jin explaining the Japanese face theory to him once, before debut. It's said that humans possess three faces: the first you show the world, the second you show close friends and family, and the third, the truest of the three, is never revealed to anyone. Hoseok thinks about that a lot. Are there parts of him that no one else will ever see? That seems highly unlikely, considering Yoongi’s seen him naked countless times and has known him for god knows how long. Still, he ponders. Maybe somewhere, deep within him, there is something that even he, himself, has never discovered. Maybe he never will. The thought is saddening.

 

Hoseok knows for certain that there are things about Yoongi that Hoseok will never begin to understand. There are things, too, that drive Hoseok insane because the context is missing. He likes being able to read people like a book. It’s so difficult to do so with Yoongi.

 

Then there are the fans. What do the fans see? Have they noticed things? It causes a crippling fear to crawl across his chest and settle heavily over his heart. Have the fans noticed things about Hoseok that Hoseok never will? Have his friends? What if they see things— dirty things. Things that are too dark, too destructive for anyone to look in upon. What if they see past his façade and realize he’s not the person they thought he was? What if he isn’t really who even _he_ thinks he is?

 

Hoseok does not bring this up with anyone. He doesn’t know how he could, considering there’s so much to do and so little time to accomplish anything. Yoongi has recovered from his ear injury and taken it upon himself to be an extra pain in the ass. Namjoon is stressed to the point that he isn’t eating, and Hoseok— well, Hoseok’s just kind of there. He knows he should be panicking about their comeback and his solo stage, but he isn’t. He feels numb. He puts on a smile and goes about life like he usually does.

 

Which of his three faces is the one smiling now?

 

 

    ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Their MAMA stage is cause for much duress. Hoseok has thrown up nearly twice in the last twenty-four hours because of the pressure. He’s going to have to dance blindfolded. The thought isn’t sitting comfortably with him.

 

On top of that, Hoseok has to dance blindfolded and in perfect sync with _Jimin_. The kid looks worse for wear.

 

“There’s not much to worry about,” Namjoon had told Jimin earlier, when he appeared to give everyone a pep talk and a pat on the back before he disappeared again. “There’s nothing to trip over and there’s enough space that you won’t fall off the stage. You know the moves. Just let go.”

 

Jimin had glowered moodily, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t worried about falling or tripping before, but now I am. Thanks, hyung.”

 

Namjoon had chuckled fondly and ruffled Jimin’s hair.

 

Now, several hours later, Jimin is pacing. They’re in the small dressing room assigned to them, makeup on and rearing to go. Some of them, though, are not so happy about the stage. This is mainly Jimin. He’s clearly upset, flittering about the room like he’s got a stick shoved up his ass (as Yoongi would so kindly put it). Yoongi, himself, is restless just watching Jimin. The two of them are not exactly on good terms.

 

“Jimin, stop moving around,” Yoongi gripes at Jimin from his seat on the couch in the corner. Jin is next to him, on his phone with his feet on Yoongi’s lap. The eldest appears to be taking selfies. Of course.

 

Jimin immediately stops, glaring righteously. Hoseok finds his eyebrows rising. He doesn’t comment on it.

 

“Jimin is just nervous, Yoongi,” Jin offers with an unceremonious jab at Yoongi’s thigh with his big toe. “Let him do his thing.”

 

Yoongi doesn’t take kindly to the rebuke. “Well, it’s annoying. He can do that shit somewhere else.”

 

“ _Language_ ,” Jin snaps loudly. Then, as an afterthought, “where would he even go? We have to stay here; we're going on soon.”

 

“Hyung is right,” Jeongguk pipes up from the doorway. He, also, is on his phone. Hoseok wonders if he’s taking selfies, too, before thinking better of it. Probably not. Jeongguk only takes them once every blue moon.

 

“Do you always take Jin’s side?” Yoongi asks with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Yes. Hyung is nice,” Jeongguk replies immediately.

 

Hoseok hides his smile behind his hand. Jin doesn’t even bother; he laughs outright, like it’s his birthright to do so. Yoongi grumbles under his breath.

 

“You may go back to pacing now, love,” Jin smiles over at Jimin, momentarily putting his phone down to give an encouraging thumbs-up. Jimin balks, but does not say anything. Taehyung sends him hand hearts from the floor, causing Jimin to smile the tiniest amount. Yoongi watches them from the sofa with a feral expression.

 

“Why are the bathrooms so damn far?” Namjoon materializes once again, barging through the door Jeongguk was leaned up against like a bull in a fight, horns out and puffing steam. Jin does not reprimand him for saying “damn”, which is a cuss word to Jin, apparently. Jeongguk once argued that if the word is in the Bible, then it’s okay to say, but Jin had properly shut him down with a “you’re an atheist, babe.”

 

“They’re far because everyone thinks we’re fat and need the exercise.” Jimin starts pacing again.

 

“Speak for yourself, sourpuss,” Jin says with a wave of his hand. His attention is glued to his phone once again. He smiles into his camera lens. Bedazzling, Hoseok thinks dryly.

 

“Does anyone want anything to drink?” Hoseok’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. Yoongi’s eyes jut to where Hoseok is sitting crisscross on the coffee table. His butt hurts and this position does not help in the least. He stands.

 

Namjoon sits down on Jin, who squawks and tries to push him off, but ultimately lets him settle on his lap. “That would be a good idea,” he agrees. “I’m thirsty. You want anything, honeybuns?” Namjoon turns to Yoongi to brush his bangs off his forehead. Yoongi makes a disgusted noise and moves out of his reach.

 

“No, but Jimin sure does with all the pacing he’s doing,” Yoongi looks at Hoseok with an expression that screams _fix him or I will._ “Take the brat with you, while you’re at it. Seeing him is giving me a headache.”

 

Namjoon flicks Yoongi’s head a little too hard to be playful. “He’s not a brat.” It’s low, a warning. “But yes, Hoseok, take him with you. You can’t carry all the drinks on your own.”

 

Hoseok nods, stretching his legs out by bending, pressing his palms against the floor. Jimin is still pacing, but he’s glancing at Hoseok every time he turns his way. He looks upset.

 

The two boys are silent as they make their way out of the room and to the hallway outside. Hoseok thinks he saw a vending machine somewhere on their way in. He brings it up with Jimin, but all he does is hum noncommittedly.

 

“What do you think everyone would like?” Hoseok tries once again to engage Jimin. Said boy is staring at the toes of his shoes as if they personally offended him. His head jolts upright at Hoseok’s question, blinking.

 

“I got orders from Tae not to get anything carbonated,” Jimin returns. “It makes him burp.”

 

Hoseok chuckles, though he doesn’t give any other reply. The vending machine is in view now.

 

Once they’ve acquired the beverages, Hoseok plops onto a bench nearby. Jimin gives him a questioning look, but follows after nonetheless. They sit in relative peace, sipping their drinks. Jimin makes a quiet comment about the taste of his energy drink. Hoseok only nods.

 

It isn’t until a few minutes later, when a security guard zooms past them in the general direction of the concert hall, that Jimin decides to speak again. Hoseok does not hear him, as his voice is impossibly soft. He cranes his neck to the side in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

Jimin sips his drink languidly. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

 

“No, what were you saying?” Hoseok turns to face Jimin now. Jimin does not look back. “I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s nothing.” A shrug. The edge of his words are sharp and irritable. Jimin takes another sip.

 

Hoseok would like to say he has the patience not to sigh like the most put-upon person in the history of mankind. They do not have the time to be tiptoeing around each other like children. Not even Jimin can use that excuse anymore.

 

But Hoseok doesn’t have the energy to snap at his dongsaeng. He needs to save that for their performance, the interviews following, the days ahead. He needs to keep his head on.

 

So instead of pressing Jimin for an explanation, he stands, gathering what drinks he can carry in his arms and shuffling away. He does not wait for Jimin to follow him, nor does he look over his shoulder to see the younger boy linger behind, stuck next to the ghost of where Hoseok was. Hoseok doesn’t see the way Jimin’s face drops or the way he fiddles with his hands.

 

Hoseok doesn’t have the time for this.

 

 

    ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

The music is loud. It’s playing so loud Hoseok can barely think. Only feeling, he surrounds himself in the cool darkness behind his eyelids as his earphones feed the song into his brain, his body, his very soul. It’s so loud Hoseok doesn’t hear when Yoongi comes into the room. The other boy pops up in front of him suddenly and consequently takes eight years off Hoseok’s life. Hoseok, in turn, throws Yoongi the middle finger with a threat of dousing his entire cd collection in rubbing alcohol.

 

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi bounces on his heels as he stands before Hoseok, hands clasped behind his back. He must have a death wish. Hoseok scowls.

 

“What does it look like, dumbass.”

 

“Someone’s sassy today,” Yoongi singsongs and dances around their room humming _BigBang’s_ “FUXX IT.” It’s then that Hoseok notices he’s not wearing much. Only a black wife beater and a pair of boxers keep his slim body relatively PG. The boxers are pink, though. Yoongi doesn’t own anything pink.

 

Hoseok blinks. “Are you those... yours?” Yoongi turns to him questioningly. Hoseok points at his butt.

 

Grinning, Yoongi whispers a cheeky “Maybe.” He does a little twirl, showing off. “I bought them because _why_ _not_ , right?”

 

“You hate pink.”

 

“I do not!”

 

“You told Jimin pink is a color for girls,” Hoseok frowns at the memory. Jimin had been decidedly deflated after that, looking like a popped balloon. A pink balloon. Hoseok knows it’s one of Jimin’s favorite colors, too.

 

“I only said that because he looks good in pink,” Yoongi’s shoulders sag dramatically, and he juts his bottom lip out in a pout.

 

Hoseok sighs. It'd be a lie to say Yoongi hasn’t been doing this a lot lately. Yoongi’s been drinking. But he seems pretty happy, so Hoseok supposes it isn’t all bad. Maybe it’ll do him some good to let go. Maybe he’ll loosen up.

 

Yoongi flies over to where Hoseok’s leaning back in his desk chair to straddle his waist. Hoseok lets the smallest grunt squeeze past his lips.

 

“I’m bored,” Yoongi whines. “Come play with me. I still have some beer left. Let’s get shitfaced!” He cheers obnoxiously. Hoseok rubs at his temples.

 

“Not tonight, Yoongi.”

 

“Yes tonight, Yoongi.” Then, “oh wait, that’s me.” Giggle. “Silly Yoongi.”

 

“I’m trying to be productive here, go away,” Hoseok tries pushing Yoongi off his lap. This only causes Yoongi to whine loudly and grind down onto Hoseok. The latter grits his teeth in exasperation. “I mean it. I want to be alone right now.”

 

“No you don’t,” Yoongi grins. “Hobi never likes to be alone.”

 

Hoseok ignores the feeling of Yoongi wiggling his ass around, chewing at his lip. “ _Hobi_ does, but Hoseok doesn’t.”

 

“They’re the same...” Yoongi’s brows furrow cutely. “This hurts my brain.” His arms slither around Hoseok’s neck. “Please...”

 

Hoseok knows he’ll have to give in eventually. So why prolong the inevitable? They should be celebrating anyway; their MAMA stage went well, as most of their stages have been recently. They should be celebrating more often. So he pauses his music, now forgotten, and takes Yoongi up on his offer. He doesn’t care if it’s dangerous that they’re doing this in the dorm. Namjoon is out cold with the flu and Taehyung wouldn’t tell on them if his life depended on it. The only problem they face is the possibility of Jimin being home and moving about. But that’s nearly impossible. Besides, Hoseok doesn’t care. If Yoongi doesn’t, Hoseok won’t.

 

“Have you tried shotgunning before?” Yoongi drones some forty minutes later. They’re sitting on Hoseok’s bed, passing a cigarette and a bag of potato chips between them, empty cans of beer littering the floor. Hoseok doesn’t smoke. Yoongi does, and has persuaded Hoseok to allow him this “one last pleasure on this god forbidden earth.” Whatever that means.

 

Hoseok shakes his head, curiosity piqued. “No, what’s that?”

 

Instead of responding, Yoongi leans toward Hoseok. He takes a particularly long drag, grabbing the nape of Hoseok’s neck to bring them close enough for their lips to touch. Hoseok immediately parts his. The smoke trapped behind Yoongi’s smile creeps between them and fills up Hoseok’s lungs. Hoseok tries to deepen the kiss. To his dismay, Yoongi pulls away again almost immediately. Hoseok chokes a bit as a smirk spreads Yoongi’s face, his eyes crinkling like old books.

 

“ _That’s_ shotgunning.”

 

“Oh,” Hoseok murmurs. “That’s... nice.” He touches his lips without realizing he’s doing it. He feels his face heat.

 

Yoongi beams. “You like it?”

 

Hoseok nods. “It’s... yeah. I like it.”

 

Yoongi hands Hoseok the cig. Hoseok takes it between his thumb and forefinger like it’s going to explode if he squeezes too hard.

 

“Now you try,” Yoongi urges, turning his head to face Hoseok on the bed and shoot him a devilish look. Hoseok gulps unconsciously.

 

“I’m probably going to do it wrong,” Hoseok babbles, frowning. “I’m not as experienced as you are...”

 

Nevertheless, Hoseok still attempts to imitate Yoongi. He cups Yoongi’s left cheek as he inhales the nicotine. Yoongi’s lips are spit-slick and parted and _oh, they look nice_. Unthinkingly, Hoseok breathes out a whispered “You’re pretty.” He feels Yoongi stiffen under his fingertips almost immediately. It could almost be comical, if Yoongi didn’t look as if he’d been burned.

 

“I’m a guy,” he returns flatly.

 

“So?” Hoseok prods. He starts leaning in to seal the comment, as if to say _there_ , but Yoongi grips Hoseok’s shoulder hard enough to make him reel. That brings Hoseok’s head back to sea level, as opposed to where it was floating amidst the clouds in the night sky. Yoongi gives Hoseok a _look_. Hoseok stops moving immediately.

 

“What is it?” He whines, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child, yet he has miles to go before he begins to start caring. He doesn’t have the _time_ for this.

 

“You know I hate comments like that,” Yoongi almost scowls. Who’s the petulant child now? “I asked you to stop.”

 

Hoseok wonders if this is one of Yoongi’s flaws he hides behind his masks. Which mask does Yoongi show Hoseok? He feels the energy drain out of him slowly at that, like a trickle of rain water down a windshield. Yoongi, the windshield wiper, is always there to knock some sense back into Hoseok. He should be thankful, but he isn’t.

 

“I don’t get it, but I’ll respect it,” Hoseok monotones. He can’t help but be bitter and add, “Unlike _someone_.”

 

This utterance draws an eye-roll from Yoongi. He’s now leaning back against the headboard of the bed, a solid foot between them. Hoseok crawls so he’s sitting marginally closer, bumping knees with the older boy. Yoongi steals the cigarette back.

 

“You know,” he begins lazily, puffing smoke into Hoseok’s face and laughing when the other slaps him. His smile quickly falters, fading into the shadowed room. Hoseok waits. “Ever think it’s weird?”

 

“What’s weird?” Hoseok grabs a handful of potato chips from the bag and munches on them diligently. Yoongi robs him of a few without a second thought, sans repentance.

 

“Isn’t it weird that like... us. Aren’t we weird?” Yoongi stares at the opposite wall as he chews, like it’s what he’s talking to and not the boy beside him. Hoseok follows his eyes, and they land on the desk opposite the bed. It isn’t so much a desk as it is a small table stacked with random shit that’s accumulated over the years. There’s a yellow folding chair as a seat. Next to it is a trashcan filled with balled up pieces of paper. Lyrics. Hoseok’s song lyrics scribbled and torn out of a college-ruled notebook.

 

Hoseok swallows the lump forming in his throat. “Everyone’s weird.”

 

“Not like us,” Yoongi shakes his head. “We’re... a different kind of weird.” He glances thoughtfully at Hoseok, probably awaiting his two-cents.

 

Hoseok knows what Yoongi’s getting at. He’s thought about it himself— what they are, what fire they’re playing with. It’s a dangerous game. Hoseok doesn’t have the energy to be meddling with pyrotechnics this far into their lie. He needs to sleep it off and, judging by the elder’s pinched face and upside down smile, Yoongi does too.

 

Hoseok does not give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt. He quickly excuses himself to the bathroom.

 

 

    ♛ ♛ ♛

 

 

Three days pass and Hoseok is asked what he’d be doing with his life were he not in BTS. At first, Hoseok takes it like every other question in these interviews: with a grain of salt. He answers with something typical, as do the others. There’s not much thought put into it.

 

It isn’t until later when Hoseok is sweating through his t-shirt in practice with a pounding heart and headache, that the question sinks in. Who would he be, really, without BTS, without his friends? Hoseok is a people-person. He lives for being on camera. He breathes for the attention and the chance to make people smile. Is the Hoseok on camera what his friends see? Is camera Hoseok who they avoid when he’s too tired to speak or too irritated to play with them? Who is the Hoseok on camera? Is he a mask of Hoseok’s? An illusion? Hoseok is an incessantly happy ball of energy. Hoseok never tires of being the mood-maker. Hoseok is good at what he does; his members love him, treat him with the respect he’s rightfully earned. Hoseok is good.

 

Hoseok hates lying sometimes. He has to, for the cameras, for the fans. It wouldn’t be right to let them down. But sometimes it stays with him, like the lavender smudges under his eyes and the soreness in his bones. It follows him around like a second shadow. Is this what he wants?

 

In retrospect, Hoseok realizes he doesn’t have a say in the matter. His role has been chosen. It is up to him now to fulfill his part to the best of his ability. Some days it still isn’t enough. And that’s okay. That’s show business. This is what he’s chosen.

 

Hoseok drifts to Namjoon like a tumbleweed, finding him out after practice with the excuse he wants to share his ideas for their next album. It's a little early to be worrying about their next comeback so soon, but Namjoon is easy to talk to, and Hoseok needs any excuse he can grasp.

 

Namjoon obliges readily. Once the door of his studio has closed, however, Namjoon lets his act drop, and he gives Hoseok an expectant eyebrow raise.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Ah, that dreaded question. Hoseok hates formalities like this. There isn’t really a situation in which one can answer truthfully to that.

 

“I’m doing alright,” Hoseok decides on, instead. It’s a roundabout way of saying things are actually shit.

 

Namjoon chuckles. “So, in other words, you aren’t alright.”

 

_No, things are shitty, and I don’t know what to do._

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Hoseok laughs lightly.

 

Namjoon hums, picking up a tissue box sitting on his desk and tossing it between his hands. Hoseok deducts that standing awkwardly by the door is suspicious, so he leans against Namjoon’s desk with the excuse of inspecting the leftover candy from Halloween sitting by Namjoon’s computer monitor. It is a mystery how Namjoon still has his. The kids ate all of Hoseok’s within days.

 

“Okay,” Namjoon lets out a puff of air from between his cheeks. “Just let it out. I can’t stand being on the outside any longer. Everything’s going to hell, and _no one will talk to me. What’s going on_?” The words are equal parts frustrated and incredibly crushed. Hoseok looks up in alarm.

 

“Everything’s fi—”

 

“Cut the bullshit, Hoseok,” Namjoon interrupts and _oh_. Hoseok frowns, bringing his hands to play with the collar of his shirt. Namjoon had claimed he’s fully recovered from being ill. Seeing him now, Hoseok can tell that it was a lie. They both need sleep.

 

Hoseok blinks, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admits. He meets Namjoon’s eyes. Namjoon sets his tissue box back on the desk.

 

“It’s not what I want you to say; it’s what needs to be said,” Namjoon, ever the enigmatic prophet he is, smiles a little sadly.

 

“I... don’t know where to begin.” Another quiet admission. Namjoon gently pats Hoseok’s knee, prompting him.

 

“Just start from the beginning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied/referenced internalized homophobia.

**Author's Note:**

> SUPPORT ME BY SENDING KUDOS + LEAVING COMMENTS (:  
> 


End file.
